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Mrs. Cankson greeted each student by name, gave them a smile, a nod, a word, and set the essays they passed her into her inbox basket. Today she was wearing a loose fitting pink crop top that was thin enough to almost be see-through. Even though the shirt was opaque, it hung on her breasts and nipples and allowed shadows to form beneath both. Instead of the pants she'd had on the day before she wore a long skirt today. Long enough to almost cover her feet, but even though it covered the entirety of her legs it--much like the top--hugged her hips and the curve of her butt.

She looked up at the clock. There was still another three minutes before the bell rang and class began. Menia graced her door and she smiled. "Put it in my basket, would you," she said and got up. She met Menia in the doorway, asked:"Do you have a moment?"

"Okay."

Mrs. Cankson walked a few steps away from the door and pushed her hands down over the tops of her legs. "How're you?"

"Fine?" Menia said.

"Yeah? Okay, good. I just wanted to check in because of what we talked about." Menia's narrowing eyes said she didn't know what her teacher was talking about. "You avoiding my class for the whole of this semester?"

"O-oh. Yeah, okay."

"You're jumping in at a pretty awkward point, so I wanted to see how yesterday was for you. Usually someone's first day in my class doesn't involve seeing ... you know, genitalia. We work up to that over weeks, but you skipped that part."

"It's fine."

Mrs. Cankson leaned in to look at her classroom's wall clock. Her students were talking, making jokes, looking at their phones--the usual pre-class stuff. There was still a minute for her to tell Menia what she'd pulled her aside for.

"How's your sense of smell?"

"My--"

Mrs. Cankson touched her nose. "Your smell. Can you pick out individual smells when there's a mixture?"

"I don't know?" Menia said. "Maybe?"

"If someone had a fruit salad, could you smell each fruit? Or would it just smell like a bowl of sweet fruity stuff?"

"Oh, yeah, I can smell each thing."

Mrs. Cankson smiled. "I thought so."

"Why?"

"It'll come up in class today, which is why I wanted to talk--" the bell rang, sounding the start of class. "Just try and take in what we talk about in stride, okay? It might be alarming, but ... you'll see."

Okay? Menia thought. The hell was that all about?

Tallish heaved a box off a stack of half a dozen, carried it two steps to the cart, then went back for another. The barge was almost totally unloaded. If the captain had carried his correct load and not added another half shipment Hossef's crew would have been done already. A fair number of the other workers, the humans especially, were complaining about the extra work, but Tallish didn't care. Whether it was this barge, another, a sub from the trench, or a cruiser, there was always going to be another thing to load or unload, that was the job.

Only thing I've ever done, he thought. He often fantasized about getting hurt, not in a 'I hope it happens' kind of way, but thoughts of his leg getting crushed, or a crane dropping a load onto his head, or an anchor line snapping and cutting an arm off would pass through his head now and then. Then he'd wonder what Menia would do. Call her mother probably, try and get her to send some money.

Did travel writing even pay all that well still? He had no idea. When he and Clainin, Menia's mom, met she was doing rather well for herself. Some of her money was from her family. Well, quite a lot of it actually, and that allowed her to travel in style: stay at the nicer hotels, eat at the better restaurants, mingle with the welltodo of a city. In turn that allowed her to sell her writing at a premium. Most other travel writers did pieces on saving money, the best dive bars, where to stay for cheap and not get robbed, what the locals knew. Clainin wrote about what the locals knew too, but the moneyed ones.

"Oi, Tallish, get me another one." Roger, a dark-skinned human lifted his chin toward the dwindling pile of crates.

"You're topped out. That's eight."

"Come on, toss another up there. You can reach it. I'll manage."

Tallish headed back to the barge. In three quick movements he heaved a crate up, turned, and hefted it to the top of the others.

"How strong are you? Fuckin' a, man."

"Probably about twice what you are. Nothing special."

Roger chuckled. "Nothing special," he muttered through a grin. He wheeled the cart around and headed off to where a line of trucks, wagons, and courier bikes waited. Or, at least, that's what he'd meant to do, what he'd done thirty times before. This time, be it end-of-day tiredness or that one extra crate Tallish added, he turned his ankle. There was a pop, a pained grunt, and Roger was falling, the cart and all nine crates--each one weighing eighty to ninety pounds--were toppling over onto him.

Tallish's senses flared. Adrenaline exploded, and in five galloping bounds he was between roger and the crates. Now seven-hundred-plus pounds of cargo was coming down on him. Twice as strong as a human or not that kind of weight was going to break bones. With a shoving kick he pushed Roger five feet across the dock and out of harm's way, but then was in it himself.

Tallish managed to push one falling box fully away at the same time as he rescued Roger, then the rest came down. Five wooden crates holding a combined four-hundred pounds of gear and supplies smashed into him. His fur was stained red as a gash along his right arm was torn open, the same crate slammed into his right foot, mashing toes under an edge, and a final one cracked him in the head.

Everything went black.

Mrs. Cankson dimmed the lights, pulled her seat from behind her desk to sit at the front of her students, and took a seat. With a click on her remote a white screen rolled down from where it lived above the chalkboard.

"No need for your books today, we'll be watching a few short videos ... Hey, come on, hush up. I'm sure you've all seen this before, and far more than what you're going to see in school."

"Yeah, with you as our teacher," someone said a little louder than he meant from the back. There were giggles, 'oohs', and a subdued laughter.

Mrs. Cankson ignored the comment. With another click the ceiling mounted projector was turned on. A few more presses and a still image of a large breed of dog was shown.

"A husky. A little large, maybe seventy pounds, could have a little wolf in him, but a husky. Why are we looking at him in this class? Anyone?"

"Are we going to talk about compatibility today?" A female student asked.

"Just so. Who asked that?"

"Me. Oh, uh, sorry. Hannah."

"Hannah, that's right. What do you know about compatible humans?"

"Oh, uhm, not much. Just that some humans are able to ... uh ... do it with certain species outside of the anthro races."

"That's right. Do you know how many?" The phys.ed teacher's question was met with silence. "Not many at all. Roughly one in ten-thousand. And of those few that are compatible, most will go their entire lives not even knowing what they're capable of." She let that sit with them for a moment. In the six years she'd been teaching, most of her students had never heard of compatibility. And if they had they knew only the barest details. "Hannah, since you were the one to speak up I'll ask you: What is compatibility?"

"Uhm. Oh. I'm not ... how about you just explain it."

"I'd like to hear what you know."

"Just that some people can have sex with full animals."

"Correct, but there's more to it than that alone." Mrs. Cankson could practically feel the students squirm in their seats with discomfort, at least most of them. There were always a few that didn't mind which was why she always faced the screen for this day's lesson. Given her own feelings toward the matter she didn't want her students seeing her face, or her chest, or really any of her at all.

"The most exci--excuse me. The most interesting thing about compatibility isn't that some people can mate with animals, it's that they can breed with them. It's suspected--by some, not all--and has yet to be confirmed, that this is how the very first anthro races came into being, but there are historical records that go back hundreds, even thousands of years in some cases where anthros walked the earth, but we don't fully understand how that happened. This starts to get into dicey territory because there are some, hmm, how do I say this ... There are racists. There, that's how you say it. And they claim that humans are the only true 'people' on the planet. They say that compatibility with humans is proof that humans are the superior race."

The class burst into quiet arguments. Not with Mrs. Cankson or even each other, but the idea at large. "There's no way that." "There's always been an anthro in my family." "My mom is anthro, my dad human, I'm human, so what?" "Superior to what, it goes both ways."

Mrs. Cankson let them go on for another few moments then whistled a single shrill note. "Okay. I don't take that stance, and I don't think any of you do either. Moving on." She pressed a button.

The next image consisted of two sides: On the left there was a pretty woman, middle-aged, long brown hair, and completely nude. She was lying on her back, legs and arms up, wrapped around the husky from the previous slide; on the right side of the image was a male, also nude, fit, standing behind a dog, mid thrust.

"Most humans in one of these two positions would be extremely uncomfortable. I don't mean mentally, although there is that, but physically. There's a whole assortment of maladies that'll befall someone incompatible that tries to mate with an animal. There're rashes, aches, boils, vomiting, loss of eyesight, sometimes permanently, not to mention the smell. For most incompatible people the smell of an aroused animal is enough to turn their nose. Not so much to vomit, but it's unpleasant. Jason, your parents are breeders, right? Shepherd's dogs?"

"Yeah."

"I imagine you've been around for mating, helping out?"

"Uh-huh."

"What's it smell like to you?"

"Uh, kind of ... sort of like old clothes. Old boiled clothes. Dirty. I don't know if I'd say gross, but it's just kind of ew."

"Kind of ew, right. That's a good way to put it. Some people don't notice anything at all, but the vast majority of incompatibles can't stand the smell. And for a compatible person, that same smell is not ew at all. Not in the least, it's ..." Mrs. Cankson bit at the inside of her lower lip. "It's different for everyone," she was quick to go on, "but for someone compatible, it's an exquisite smell."

Menia thought of her dad. How he smelled when he would come home, how for the past few years that smell alone had done things to her. Things between her legs that made her swallow mouthfuls of sudden saliva. Made her eyes twitch and go all funny fuzzy. That smell, that fucking smell.

But that wasn't all. She'd learned something today that she'd never known before. There was another thing that smelled good too. Almost as good as her dad. It was something she'd only smelled twice and had always assumed that was just how it smelled, it seemed she'd been mistaken.

The first time she smelled it was two years ... no, one? It was around the time she turned thirteen, so yeah, about two years back. She and Tallish were headed to the store for a typical weekly trip. Outside was a large breed of dog, a mix of something. He was tied to one of the many posts for that very thing. It was something Menia had seen dozens of times before, but what she hadn't seen before, not that she could recall, was the massive cock laying against the dog's stomach. The dog was licking himself and as she as her dad walked into the store she was hit with a smell that was so enticing she thought it had to be something inside. It smelled of fresh baked honey-bread, ripe fruit, of coconut and berries. It made her mouth water and her legs tingle. As soon as she'd passed the dog and was inside the market the smell began to fade. At the time she thought maybe the smell had come from the bakery, a passing cart of finished treats, or an oven opening that let a rush of smells free. She never suspected it had come from the dog.

Not until the second time.

The second time it happened reminded her of the first and when that connection was made she knew for certain what was causing the smell. That time it'd been when one of her dad's coworkers had gone out of town on a trip for a couple of days and asked Tallish to look after his pup while gone. The dog was five years old and, like most all dogs, a mix. It had a semi-long snout, shorter than a shepard's, but far from flat like a bulldog. Similar to a lab's. His fur was a swirl of light brown, deep red, and dirty white. He liked to sit back and watch, tilt his head this way and that as he studied Tallish and his daughter. Menia with an odd intensity.

On the very first day of their dog sitting stint Sash grew stiff. It happened while Tallish was making dinner. Once again Menia thought it was some food thing. Her senses went on high alert, she looked around. What on earth was her dad cooking? Holy shit that smelled good. She almost asked him when she saw Sash's cock, fully erect, and glistening. It pulsed as he sat there with his head tilted, staring her in the eyes. His breathing picked up a little, his chest lifted and fell, lifted and fell, his dark red cock almost seemed to beckon her. With his every breath it seemed to call to her, "Hey, come over here." Bounce, bounce ... bounce.

That's where the smell was coming from. There was no doubt in her mind about it. That was when she remembered the dog at the store.

Now, today, she knew what it meant.

I'm ... I'm compatible? Huh. She smiled to herself. Wait, so ... does that mean Mrs. Cankson is too? Is that why she asked--

The classroom door was thrown open. Mr. Cot from the office said, "Menia Ranercosta?"

"Yes?"

"It's your dad. There's been an accident. I need you to come with me."