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Dylan spent the rest of that night in a buzz. After coming to out of an ecstatic stupor full of idiotic laughter and joyous tears, he decided to come back to Through the Roof. There wasn't anyone playing that night, but he had a hell of a time regardless. He sat at the bar, chatting amiably with the black bear bartender, whom he learned was named Jeff. Most of the conversation was Dylan asking what the stories were behind the many celebrity photos and knick-knacks plastered on the walls around them. Jeff admitted that he hadn't been there to prove whether most of the celebrity photos were true. Dylan couldn't either, so he decided to pretend they had all really been there.

He had a bit of a buzz on by the time he left. He chewed the ears off of a few patrons who sat next to him, letting them know that he would be performing here in a few days. He felt a tad embarrassed when they asked exactly when, a question he didn't have an answer to yet. He would spend the next few days yanking his phone out of his pocket upon every single notification to see if it was Marty. He would tell himself that he had to be patient, but he couldn't deny the fact that every buzz of his phone that wasn't Marty was an extra layer shaved off of his forbearance. A few days later Dylan was in front of the State Capitol Building with his phone camera open snapping pictures when the phone buzzed in his paws. The notification bar appeared on the top side of the screen.

MARTY: Hey! I've got you scheduled for...

The rest of the message was cut off. Marty's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He hastily turned his phone rightside up and hurriedly tapped his thumb on the home button. The camera app shrank away, and he opened his text messages. 1 Unread Message was written at the top. At the top of the message list was Marty's message. He tapped it open.

MARTY: Hey! I've got you scheduled for friday night starting at 8. Have a thirty minute set for me. At least 25 minutes no longer then 40. Let me know if that sounds good

Dylan sucked air in through his teeth, trying to remain reserved while the excitement surged through him like an electric current. He tapped up a quick response.

Dylan: Awesoem! You got it! I'll have something ygood for you i promis!

A minute later:

MARTY: Good to hear! Call me if you need anything! See you then!

Dylan let him know that he would. With another burst of excitement, he balled his fists in front of his face and shook them. He bit his tongue to hold back an ecstatic squeal, though he couldn't stop a whiny snort from squeezing itself out. The word YES was on the very tip of his tongue, ready to be shouted up to the sky with his arms rocketed over his head into a triumphant Y. It was the sound of someone's feet hitting the concrete sidewalk right behind him that made him quickly gather himself. He walked back to the hotel with that same stupid grin on his face. Marty promising him a spot the night before was the news he had been waiting for for so long, but his text message was the confirmation Dylan needed to know it was finally happening. He all but skipped his way down the sidewalk, making polite gestures and giving amiable hello's to whoever passed him by. Rarely the kind of fellow to be chipper around random folk on the street, he was far too happy that day to just keep it to himself.

So many images were flooding his mind: him on stage, the crowd in front of him, the haze of cigarette smoke hovering around the stage lights. He could hear them clapping and cheering. He could see the enamored looks on the women's faces. His heart was soaring at the mere thought of it all. Suddenly, he stopped. He was mid-stride on the sidewalk, his leg stepped out in front of him with his paws in his pockets. It dawned on him that he didn't have a set yet. His glowing triumph turned into stony dread. He continued walking, albeit at a much brisker pace. He didn't smile or say hello to anyone. He broke into a speed walk that just fell short of a jog. I need to write a set, now.

It was Tuesday, so he had two full days to prepare. That didn't mean he should dawdle. He burst into the La Quinta and ran his way up the stairs, skipping several steps along the way. He made it into his hotel room where everything was as he left it, spare the freshly made bed, courtesy of housekeeping. Most importantly, his guitar remained in its case on the other mattress. Out of some paranoid habit, he jogged up to it and opened the case to see if it was still inside. It was, thank God, although he never had any real reason to suspect that it would be gone. Years of owning it had built an emotional attachment like between two people. It was the first electric guitar he had ever purchased on his own dollar, something that ensured his everlasting bond with the instrument. He remembered seeing it on the wall at his local music store, standing out next to the rest with a certain gay flare that captured his eye and wouldn't let go. It was a striking violet color with edges like a deep ocean blue. The finish shimmered like freshly lacquered wood, something it hadn't lost one bit since he bought it more than half a decade ago. It had a pattern like tiger stripes that ran perpendicular to the strings. It had a visual texture like the felt inside of a musical instrument case that had just been glossed over by someone's hand. A pair of violin-esque F holes flanked the bridge. Dylan thought it was beautiful. With the cash he had been saving since his 16th birthday, he purchased it and never looked back.

Happy to see it in its case, he shut it and sighed with relief. He looked around the hotel room. Is here an OK place to practice? He had a miniature amp in his van that he could've used, but would it be too loud? He didn't think so, but all it took was one person trying to sleep in next door to be a nuisance. He wasn't about to practice without the amp given that he wouldn't be able to hear what it would sound like on the performance night. He tapped his finger on the guitar case. With his lip twisted in though, he looked up at the window. A curtain of gold sunlight was pouring in, illuminating the floating swirl of dust motes. It was a beautiful day outside, one he had been enjoying already. Why not practice outside? There had to be a nice park somewhere nearby. He fished his phone out of his pocket and googled "jefferson city parks". To his delight, several showed up, but the one that impressed him the most was Binder Park. He didn't debate it any further. He snatched his guitar case off the bed and was out the door in seconds.

The place was much prettier in person. Not only expansive, it perfectly preserved the natural spirit of the Missouri wilderness. Emerald grass swept across rolling hills, halting only where the park turned into dense, dark forest. There was a pond, a flat, black pool of onyx that rippled gently under the wind. In it he could see the blue skies and the clouds drifting nonchalantly. A canoe rental cabin sat next to it with two tall racks of colorful boats. An elderly couple wearing life jackets were paddling across that placid plain. From where he was, Dylan could see the smiles on their faces. It was all nice to look at and everything, but he had business to get down to. He lugged the amp, the battery, their cords, and his guitar around while looking for a good place to sit down and practice. He found a lone oak tree standing at the top of a small hill, overlooking much of the park. His muscles burned and a sweat had broken out by the time he got to the majestically broad trunk whose base was well shaded by a sprawling canopy of green leaves and gnarled branches. He carefully put his stuff down, stretched his aching muscles, and sat down to get started.

He kept the volume of his amp down so as to not bother anyone, although he couldn't avoid grabbing the attention of the few people who passed by. As soon as the first few notes hummed out of his speaker he grew afraid that a park employee would stomp up to him and politely but firmly ask him to cease and desist. Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened. All he got were kind smiles and friendly nods while he got to strum away some of his favorite songs while enjoying the smell and feel of the archaic wood at his back. The branches whispered among themselves upon every gust of wind. Very soon he grew blind to it all. He threw himself into the zone, plucking at his strings and ensuring that every resulting sound was exactly as he needed it to. He sang to himself, no longer bothered by anyone who may or may not have heard. The park around him melted away. There was no pond nor any hills. He was hunched over his guitar, eyes stuck on his fingers. There was nothing beyond them. All that mattered was the scrape of catgut against his fingertips and the proud thrum of sound that blossomed out of his amp. He sang until every word melded into the music, fuzing together into the songs he loved. He played them again and again and again, starting over upon even the slightest errors. There would be no slip-ups tolerated on Friday night. It had to be perfect. He wouldn't sit up on that stage until he was absolutely certain that it was flawless.

By the time he came to a complete stop the sun was on its final descent towards the west, plunging that part of the sky in a brilliant orange-red. His ass was getting numb and his fingertips were raw. His throat felt like he had swallowed a fence post. Just as he was starting to realize how tired he felt his jaw split open into a gaping yawn. "Oh shit..." he said once his mouth closed. His eyes were dry and heavy. How long had he been out there? He didn't know what time he got there. It had been at least three hours, at least by his guesstimate. He sighed and pulled the guitar off of his lap. He rested it back into its leather cradle which shut closed around it with a climactic snap! He lugged his gear down the hill, packed them into his van, and drove back to the La Quinta. He marched up to his room, plopped his guitar onto its bed, and flung into his own backfirst. In seconds he was out.

* * *

Wednesday and Thursday saw Dylan do much of the same thing. He visited Binder Park and sat down in front of his new favorite tree so that he could strum away and get lost in the music for as long as his mind would let him. More onlookers graced him. A few were kind enough to clap for him when one of his songs came to an end. He smiled and nodded his thanks, although he wasn't sure if they were clapping because they liked it or just to be nice. Such thoughts were detrimental to his performance, so he shoved them away. By the time he came back Thursday night his routine had been drilled into his head. He knew every note to be played, how to play them, and when to play them. The entire set up was planned with a total of six songs totalling just under 30 minutes, if all went according to plan. He told himself again and again that everything would be fine. He'd performed plenty of times before. The set was ingrained into his mind like an epitaph.

No matter how many times he told himself that, however, he couldn't sleep. The excitement of performing combined with the imminent dread of fucking something up kept his nerves thoroughly frizzed. He tossed and turned in his sheets, trying to find some comfort while his mind blessed him with thoughts of his success and tortured him with images of his failure. He found sleep eventually, but not enough to keep him invigorated. He woke up completely hammered by exhaustion, unable to free himself from the divinely heavy and soft comforter on top of him. He tilted his head over to the alarm clock and saw that it was 11, striking Dylan with the universally experienced panic of being late. He shot out of the bed like a hidden assassin. He threw on some clothes with the haste of a groom late to his own wedding. Finally his sleep-addled brain put it together that he still had plenty of time. Still, he warned himself not to be so lax next time.

He took a prolonged shower followed by a good time in front of the mirror grooming himself. He brushed his hair into a cascade of nicely soft silk and scrubbed the hell out of his face. He didn't think there would be anybody smelling him while he was on stage, yet he still rubbed on several extra layers of deodorant. With every bit of his appearance perfected to the finest detail, he got dressed and started the agonizing wait for 8 o'clock. He revisited the Capitol, roamed the streets, bought lunch, roamed the streets some more, snapped pictures of some funny signs, all in order to burn the absurdly long hours that stood between now and his performance. He debated visiting the park for one quick rehearsal, but decided that he didn't want to ruin his clean outfit sitting against the tree.

He showed up at Through the Roof at 7 o'clock, giving him a full hour to prepare. With his guitar case in paw, he waltzed in through the front door, ready as he'd ever be. He noticed a paper flier on the door, depicting a spunky looking hyena girl belting a song into the microphone. Her hair was styled into a sparky eruption of spikes, though he couldn't tell what color due to the flier being black-and-white. She had a nose ring and several other piercings lining her ears and in her belly button which was exposed underneath her cropped tank top. Underneath her image it read:

ALL DOWN HERE

Friday Night 9 PM-11 PM.

Opening by Dylan 8 PM.

It was strange seeing the band he would be opening for the first time. He wished his mention had been a little more bold, but he figured nobody would be too enticed to go see "Dylan", whoever the hell that was. Once he was in the bar he was noticed by Jeff. "Dylan!" he hollered from behind the bar while filling a stein from the beer tap. "Marty's waitin' for ya out back."

"OK! Cool. Uhh..."

Jeff pointed his thumb at the hallway leading to the backrooms, next to the end of the bar. "Down there. Marty's office is at the very end.

Dylan nodded and headed that way. "Thanks." He made his way to the hall, looking around to see how busy the place was. There were a handful of people, maybe a dozen or more, seated at the tables and the booths. Some of them had eaten dinner and looked ready to leave. It was only 7 o'clock. Although nobody in there now would still be there by the time he started, it was plenty of time for more folk to come in. He forced himself not to worry about it and rounded the corner into the hallway. It was short and painted in chipping white paint. Graffiti was tagged everywhere in colors and shapes both childish and intimidating. The door at the very end was a deep brown, standing out against the white tunnel surrounding it. It reminded Dylan of those hidden doors he had seen inside of amusement park rides. Don't come in here or else you'll ruin the magic! With his grip on the guitar case's handle getting tight, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," commanded a voice from within. Dylan grabbed the brass knob and opened it. It was a cramped office loaded with filing cabinets and wooden drawers. Everywhere were pictures of Marty, his family, and trophies either he or his many children had won. The man himself was at his desk in the center, sucking on a fat cigar while a small metal fan blew the arid smoke out of a half-open window. His eyes lit up at the sight of the young raccoon. "Dylan!" he hooted, holding his arms open. "Come in, come in. Have a seat."

"Yes sir! Thank you." Dylan stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He sat at the old, rugged desk chair in front of Marty.

"You ready for me tonight?" Marty asked.

"Yessir!" Dylan patted his guitar case which stood up between his knees. "I've been practicing a whole bunch since you told me what time I'd be. I think I've got a good few songs to play."

Marty nodded, his cigar clamped firmly between his jaws. "Good to hear. You might've seen a flier out front. I got some guys called All Down Here playin' after you. If you want you can stick around and listen to them. They've been playing for me for a while now. You might like 'em."

"Yeah, I saw it." He remembered the feisty looking hyena woman. "They look cool."

"Yeah, that Meghan is pure fire. Her and the band are in the rehearsal room i, first door on your right, if ya wanna hang out with 'em."

"Yeah, I might."

"Did you bring an amp?"

Dylan's heart sank a little. "Well, I got one, but it's real small. I was thinking you had one."

"I do, don't worry, it's just some folk like to bring their own gear like these folks did."

Dylan's heart settled. "OK, cool. Yeah, I'll use yours, if that's OK."

Marty smiled and tipped his head. "That's A-OK with me, buddy."

"Cool, cool. Um, do you have a stool I can sit on?" In every fantasy of his he had a wooden stool he sat on.

"Yup. I can get you one."

"Awesome, and uh..." This one was embarrassing to ask, at least for him. He absentmindedly scratched the side of his snout. "How many people are gonna show up, do you think?"

Marty's eyes rolled up to gaze at the ceiling as he ran some quick guesses through his head. "40, 50 people I think. Not a whole lot, but enough. To be honest with you, some people might just show up for All Down Here and get here after you start. I'm just being honest. Not that I don't think people won't show up for you, it's just that them guys are the main event, ya know?"

He had more or less read Dylan's mind. "Yeah, that's fine. I just wanted to know what to expect."

"It's all good. In the meantime, you can do whatever you want to burn some time. I'll get you a stool to sit on. You can set up your guitar and any other stuff. Order whatever you want from the bar or the grill. It's on me."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Dylan stood up to leave.

"And thank you too, buddy. Good luck out there." Dylan thanked him one more time and turned to leave the smoke filled office. As he opened the door, he anticipated hearing Marty say "you'll need it." He closed the door behind him slowly until he heard the lock click shut. He sighed and shook his head. Why do I keep thinking shit like that? Marty wouldn't have invited him onto his stage if he didn't think he could perform. There was no way he thought Dylan couldn't do it. So why was Dylan being so paranoid? He told himself he was being ridiculous while he walked up to the stage and put his guitar case down. Normally he would just leave it there until it was performance time, but there was a guitar stand next to it. Feeling gaudy, he opened his case and set his guitar on it. Stepping back for a better look, he never felt more proud of his own guitar than when seeing it stand under the dim spotlight of a miniature stage. As a kid he thought it was magical seeing someone else's guitar waiting on the stage for their master, as if it was some holy relic to be lectured about by a professor. To have it be his own guitar, the very one he'd cherished for so long, was a pleasure he almost didn't think he deserved.

With his set-up complete, he turned back to the hallway where he could meet his fellow performers. Meghan's image was thoroughly planted in his mind, yet her bandmates remained a mystery. What species were they? What were their genders? Were they all as spicy-looking as her? What genre did they play? Dylan strongly figured punk rock, but he tried not to judge a book by its cover. He came back into the hallway and stood in front of the door where Marty said they were. He could hear chatting and laughter through the door. He rapped his knuckles on the door, making them go silent. "Come on in!" someone hollered. With a heart racing faster than he cared to admit, Dylan opened it.

There was All Down Here, cramped together in a small room, sitting on musty old couches around a moth-eaten rug. A cheap looking makeup studio was at the far end of the room where one bobcat fellow sat, facing towards his comrades. On the two tiny sofas were two people each. On his left sat a young looking skunk and a penguin, both looking up at him and wondering why he had interrupted what had to have been a fun conversation. Dylan just had his head in the doorway, but he could see how everyone's attention was now on him. Sitting on the floor, just a few feet in front of the door, was a corgi wearing ripped jeans and a leather jacket. He was leaning out of the way of the door. On the opposite couch were the last two band members. One of them was a rhino gentleman whose tremendous girth seemed ready to swallow the entire couch beneath him. He wore a giant black shirt emblazoned with the Punisher skull. Sitting next to him, looking positively miniscule thanks to his proximity, was Meghan, the spunky hyena who Dylan felt he had already met. Even without the massive rhino sitting next to her, she was a small woman. Her clothes hung off of her body which, even if by design, made her frame look all the more lithe and petite. Her face was mostly colored charcoal black, fading into a soft tan around where her jaw met her neck. She had baggy cargo pants on and a gray tank top. A black beanie hugged her crown tightly, letting out some of that chaotic hair Dylan had seen on the flier. The tips were frosted pink. A heavy-gauge nose ring hung from her septum. An entire row of earrings ran down the cartilage of her ears, punctuated at their bottom by a quarter-sized gauge. Dylan wasn't so bold as to guess openly, but he was willing to bet her nipples were pierced just like her belly button which was currently hidden.

He was staring at her for nearly an entire second before he realized everyone was waiting for him to say something. Meghan was close to giving him a look of concern before he cleared his throat. "Ah, hey guys! You All Down Here?"

"Yeah!" answered the bobcat sitting at the makeup studio. "Are you Dylan?"

Dylan nodded. "Yeah! That's me."

Like a group of children seeing Santa at the mall, their faces lit up in unison. "Dylan!" cheered several of them at once. "Come on, in! Come in!" The corgi leaning out of the door's way scooted out of his way, looking far more pleased to have his company now that he knew who he was. Dylan swung the door open and gave him a quick thank you and apology.

The rhino sitting next to Meghan patted the couch cushion space between them. "Have a seat, please!" he implored in a pleasantly deep voice. Meghan scooted over, offering him more room with a quaint little smile. The gap was about as wide as Dylan's butt, not an inch more. Fitting between them would be like stuffing a Sleeping Bag back into its bag. Regardless, he wasn't about to deny himself such a warm invitation, not from such a genial rhino and the pretty hyena. He waltzed his way up to the couch, collected his fluffy ringtail, and sat down between them. It was a tight squeeze, to say the least. The rhino's thigh rubbed up against him like a giant log of hot muscle and flab. Meghan's was far less intrusive, yet far more noticeable, especially when she settled down next to him as casually as she would if she was alone.

The smile Dylan had on his face when he chuckled was down right doltish. "So! What's your guys' names?"

A giant hoof-hand appeared in front of him, offering a shake. "Michael," greeted the rhino. Dylan grabbed his dense, calloused hoof and shook it.

"Lakem," said the bobcat.

"Karma," the skunk said with a cute wave of her fingers. "I play keyboard."

"Yeah, and I'm the drummer," Michael added, realizing they were doing instrument introductions too."

"Jake, bass," said the penguin.

"I'm Sam. I'm on the lead guitar," the bobcat said while craning his paw over to Dylan to shake his. Dylan obliged while the corgi on the floor scooted over to offer his.

"My name's Jamal, acoustic guitar." Dylan shook his hand while the other was doing the same to Sam's. The moment he was done, he looked over at the hyena glued to his left leg.

"And I'm Meghan. I sing." Her tone was snide, like she had a witty comment waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Sitting so close to her, Dylan could make out his reflection in her nose ring. Her irises were a shade of brown just brighter than her pupils. Her eyes looked right into his as if searching for, and predicting, his next response.

"Yeah! I saw you on the paper on the door."

"Yup, that's me." She leaned her head up on her arm which was propped on the armrest. She played with a tuft of pink hair that stuck out from her beanie. "Have you heard of us before?"

Dylan shook his head. "No, sorry. I'm new to town." He looked around at the assortment of motley animals around him. "What do you guys play?" He was answered with a chorus of different, if roughly similar, genres. "Punk rock", "Classic rock", and "alternative" were thrown his way.

Meghan waved them off. "We play a whole bunch of stuff. Whatever sounds good. I guess alternative fits the best but..." She shrugged. "You know. It's whatever."

"Oh, OK," Dylan said. "I'd like to hear you guys."

"You will tonight!" Sam said cheerfully. "If you stick around after your show."

"Yeah! I will, definitely."

"Awesome. What do you play?"

"Well, um..." He cleared his throat. "A lot of classic rock. My biggest inspiration is Bob Seger. I try to mimic my sound after him, or at least as much as I can. I've always been a fan of his soul. I like to play his stuff, and others. I've got some original stuff but not tonight."

"What are you gonna play?" Karma asked. He told them his lineup. Each one of them nodded their approval. "Not bad! I'd like to hear that." The rest of them agreed.

"Thanks. I'm on in..." Dylan tried sliding his phone out of his pocket, but it was nicely crammed between his and Michael's thigh. Jake did him the favor of pulling out his own phone and showing him the time. 7:23, it read. "Yeah, in 40 minutes. I guess I'll go out there in thirty. Before then, I'll hang with you guys, if that's alright."

Michael gave him a big, meaty pat on the knee. "You're more than welcome in here."

"Yeah!"

"Mmhmm!"

"Of course!"

"Yup."

Meghan smiled at him, all the while her finger twirled at her hair. "You're good. Let's just make a little more room for us." She scooted up and sat on the armrest.

"Oh! You don't have to do that. I can sit there," Dylan implored.

Meghan waved him off with stiff lips. "You're fine." She crossed her legs in front of her and balanced herself effortlessly. "I like it up here."

Dylan didn't doubt her, and relented. He was happy to have some breathing room, although he couldn't help but note her absence from where she was next to him. He spent the next half hour chatting with them and learning more about them. Most of them were high school friends who had formed the band before graduating and stuck with it even through college. Once they graduated college, they all came back together and resumed their musical antics, not bothering with pursuing any of the degrees they had dumped thousands of dollars into and were currently paying off loans for. A few band members broke off, but they were quickly replaced. Of the six of them, Meghan, Karma, Michael, and Sam were the originals. Jake and Jamal were the relative newcomers, something that was obvious thanks to their more advanced age. Meghan explained that the name All Down Here was a play on words of the phrase "All down hill from here," saying that the band is already "down" as far as it'll go, and no longer gives a fuck about it. Dylan thought that was clever, especially since it was Meghan explaining it. Whenever she spoke, he and the rest of the band listened. Dylan couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding back some snarky quip, and that it would reveal itself any time now. He wanted to be there when she said it.

Dylan pulled out his phone to discover that it was 7:51, close to show time. Just like that, the nerves he had been suppressing since he joined their group came back with a vengeance, rendering his belly a knot and his palms clammy. "Welp," he announced. "Looks like it's about time."

"Good luck out there!"

"You got this!"

"I'll be out there watching!"

"Alright, man!"

"Go out there and kill it!"

Only Meghan remained silent. The most she spared him was an encouraging smile. Oddly, that was the most encouraging of them all. He headed out the door and into the hallway. It was way darker now, with none of the ceiling lights being on. The floor of the bar was barely lit by the sun which had to have been close to setting. From there he could see a few tables and booths already containing a few patrons ready to hear him sing. He wandered down the hallway and peered down the floor. In front of him were dozens more people, chatting, laughing and smoking while they waited. At the very front was his guitar on its stand, alone within the aura of the stage lights, its violet finish shining brighter than he had ever seen it. Just next to it was a wood stool, and in front of that was the microphone on its stand, waiting for someone to breathe life into it.

Dylan's heart was already thumping out of his chest. His throat was unpleasantly dry. It felt like the only bit of moisture left on his body was the sweat accumulating across his palm. He took deep breaths. Iiiiiiiiiiiiin and ooooooouuuuut. Iiiiiiiiiiiiin and ooooooouuuuut. He went up to the bar and asked for a glass of ice water. Jeff filled one up for him. "Good luck out there," he told him.Dylan took a long, deep gulp. It wasn't quite cold, and it had an unpleasant metallic taste. Still, it did wonders on his nerves. He downed it in a few gulps, leaving nothing left but a few ice cubes.

He gasped. "Yeah, thanks." He slid the glass back onto the bar. "Mind filling me up again?" Jeff gave him a wry smile and obliged him. "Thanks."

Dylan checked his phone. 7:54. Just a few more minutes. He looked around the floor, seeing if there was anywhere he was supposed to sit and wait. All of the tables and booths were occupied with at least one person, so he leaned against the bar, clutching the glass of water in his paw, waiting for his cue to come on stage. With a knotted gut - at this point it felt like a chronic condition - stood and looked around the audience. It wasn't the biggest crowd he'd ever performed in front of thanks to his time at church and the annual talent shows at his school, but it was the most foreign. Every time prior he had his family and friends to cheer him on. Now there was nothing in front of him but a bunch of alien faces, each one of them as potentially hostile as the one next to him. This wasn't the church, or the school auditorium, or in front of his camcorder in his bedroom. This was the real deal, or at least as real as it would get.

He jerked out of his fearful thoughts when a figure waltzed out of the dark and onto the stage. It was Grace, one of the bar's waitresses. She stood in front of the mic and angled it down to her mouth. The sound of the stand's grip jerking into place ripped through the speakers in front of her. She spoke into the mic, her voice booming. "Check one. Check two..." She gave the microphone a good tapping, filling the floor with loud thuds. "Can y'all hear me?"

"Yeah!" answered the audience.

"Loud and clear!" added one cheeky fellow.

"Good!" Grace chirped, smiling from ear to ear. "How's everybody doin' tonight?" Small cheers went up from the crowd. "Awesome, awesome. Good to hear. Well, tonight we gotta interesting line up. I'm sure you've all heard of All Down Here?" More affirmative whoops. "Good! Well, tonight we got a newcomer here too, coming down all the way from Iowa. Came down here with just him and his guitar, tryin' to make music." Dylan smiled a little. "I want you all to give a nice warm welcome to Dylan!"

With that, all of the nerves seemed to disappear. Like a death row inmate at the gallows, he had come to terms with what stood before him. But unlike a death row inmate, he had the power to go up there and do good on his talents. It was do or die (or so it had been feeling like), so he chose do. He strolled up to the stage amidst a round of applause. Grace was looking around for him when she saw him materialize out of the fog of smoke and confidently step onto the stage in front of her. She gave him a perfunctory smile, and exited, leaving him there alone. He pulled his guitar off the stand, just as the applause behind him started to die down. He hoisted the instrument up into both his paws, noticing how heavy it was, as though the task in front of it was a great burden. He sat down on the stool and kicked his feet onto the footrest. He saddled the guitar across his lap and gazed out into the face of the audience for the first time.

It was as he expected in some ways, totally different in others. The haze of cigarette smoke wasn't as pronounced as he thought it would be, although he could definitely smell it. The lights shining on him weren't that bright, but they did render the floor in front of him nothing but a black void, without any features other than the silhouettes of the people watching. The only faces he could see were the ones directly in front of the stage. They all looked at him curiously, the exception being the lady whose face was obscured by the phone she was recording him with. He quickly decided that the less faces he saw meant the less pressure, but he couldn't help but wonder if Meghan and her crew were out there watching like they promised.

He brushed them out of his mind. It was show time. "How are y'all doin' tonight?" he asked. His voice sounded smooth as it echoed out of the speakers, followed by only the faintest echo. The crowd gave him their answer, an arrangement of yeah's and whoo's. "Awesome!" He looked down at his guitar strings and started plucking them absentmindedly. The music hummed out across the floor, making both his heart flutter and his toes curl. "You know, I'm from a real small town in Iowa," he continued, fingers still plucking random notes away. "Kinda place that only allowed the kind of music that worshiped God. Don't get me wrong, I love me some gospel, but I wanted a whole lot more, ya know?" He struck a few chords, each one lifting in pitch from the last like a flying bird. "I thought music was good for a lot more than praising Jesus. I wanted to go out there and see what I could do with it, find out what else music was capable of." He strummed the pick across every sting, releasing a very satisfying harmony. "So that's why I came down here to Missouri. I came straight down to Jefferson City. I gotta tell y'all, I freakin' love this place." More hoots and cheers. "I really mean that, I really do, and I wanted to show y'all my appreciation with a few songs y'all might know and like. How's that sound?"

"Whoooooo!" went somebody in the back. It sounded like Michael.

"Glad to hear it." He let fly another joyous chord. "This first one's a song you hear on commercials a lot. It's one of those songs you sing when you're blazing down the highway with the wind rippin' through your hair. Inspired me to do all of this. It's Goin' Up the Country by Canned Heat." The people who recognized it clapped. Those who didn't sat back, ready to hear what it was. He counted off in his head and bobbed his pick at the strings. One... Two... One, two, three, four... He plucked away the first few notes, a jaunty tune that made him think about someone tossing their bags into the back of a van, the beginning of a long, fruitful journey. He would've reflected on how much that resembled him just a few days ago before the lyrics, and the song, dropped.

"I'm going up the countryyyyyy, baby don't you wanna gooooooo...." His voice rang alongside the dancing tune of his guitar, smooth and delicate like Bob Hite's famously cheery voice. At once, everyone unfamiliar with the title recognized it, and started to cheer. Like Dylan said, they all recognized it from the many car insurance commercials who played it. While his voice recited the lyrics, he could see the many head outlines in front of him bobbing and swaying along to the beat. That made him smile. "I'm going to some plaaaace, where I've never beeeen befoooooore..." The rest of the song rolled out of him like clockwork, nicely and efficiently. His heel bounced on the stool's footrest and his head bopped along with the beat. He hit every cord, timed every strum, and sang like the big bear Bob Hite himself had possessed him from beyond the grave. He beat out the last note, let it hang, then cut it off with his fingers slapping the strings.

The audience reacted appropriately, clapping loudly and hollering their enjoyment. Dylan looked out at them with a childish smile. "Thank you, thank you." He waited for the applause to die down. "I'm glad y'all liked that. Made you think of the Geico commercials, didn't it?" The audience laughed. "Yeah, it's been a favorite song of mine for a while, but now I can't think of anything else but Geico when I hear it. Bastards." More laughter. "Now this next song definitely isn't in any commercials, at least as far as I know. It's definitely not a song you'd call 'age appropriate', then again the Red Hot Chili Peppers never were." Fans of the band cheered. Many of them guessed correctly what song was coming next.

Far more somber than the previous song, Californication started off slow and low. Dylan's voice came in just as morose. "Psychic spies from China tryin' to steal your mind's elation..." Dylan sang the morose tune of the dying Californian dream, something so blindly sought after by so many that it fostered a moral and creative bankruptcy. At least, that's how Dylan interpreted it. Most people just liked it for the solid beat and funny lyrics, evident by the way his audience bounced along with the beat. It was a song he thought many people missed the meaning of, one that too few people took time to look into or study. The song faded away with the last note, and was met with gay applause. "Thank you. I think we should move on to a much more fun song after that, what do you think?" The crowd agreed, although many of them thought Californication was fun on its own. "This next song is pretty fun. If you've ever been on YouTube, you've probably seen He-Man sing it. It's What's Going On by 4 Non Blondes." A few in the crowd clapped, and he started the song. It was much more upbeat than Californication, if more mellow. The tone was hopeful yet somehow sad, like the songwriter knew what miseries life would bring them, yet chose to face them with the brightest smiles they could muster. "And I said, Heeeeeey-yeeeeeeeeey-yeeeeeeeey-yeeey-yeeey. Heeeeeeey-yeeeeey-yeeeeey. I said hey! What's goin' on!" He could hear some people in the audience singing along with him, something he encouraged at the end of the song by making his guitar go completely silent so that only his and their angelic voices could be heard. It ended on the last lyric, leaving the bar in complete silence. That was finally broken by wild applause, shrill whistles and yips included.

"Thank you! Thank you! Alright. You know, it's really tough picking who my favorite artist is. I've listened to so many growing up and know so many good one right now. I think you'd have to put a gun to my head to get a straight answer. Buuuuuuut, if you did have a gun to my head and asked me that question..." He paused for a moment. "I'd have to say Bob Seger." That got a reaction out of the crowd. He didn't waste anymore time. He struck the opening notes to Old Time Rock & Roll, flashing the famous scene of a half naked Tom Cruise sliding across the hardwood through everyone's mind. He hit those notes again, then screamed those famous words. "Just take those old records off the shelf!" And the crowd went wild. Dylan used every fiber in his body to fuel that beautiful soul-filled music. His fingers struck the strings like they were prepared to bleed. The words belted from the very wells of his chest. His eyes were clenched shut under the sheer force of his effort. He was high on his own noise, putting it all out like his eternity hung on it. If only he could've seen the audience and heard their claps. He would've died right there and floated to heaven. Like all great things, the song died away, leaving Dylan panting and sweating on top of the stool. The audience's applause was like a roar, knocking him out of his stupor. He laughed to himself, the euphoria was so intense. He wanted to end it right there; there was no way he was going to top it. But the set wasn't over. He had one more song to sing, one near and dear to his heart. It was a song he wouldn't skip over for the life of him.

He let the clamor in front of him die down before he started the next song. He didn't give an introduction, for a song so eloquent and profound hardly needed it. The opening notes whispered off the strings like a forbidden secret, instantly calming whatever excitement still lingered and demanding their respect. Normally it would be played by a saxophone, but Dylan pulled it off with his guitar just as well. "On a long and lonesome highway, East of Omaha, You can listen to the engine, Moanin' out his one note song..." Those were Seger's prophetic words, ones that felt like they had been engraved across Dylan's very soul. The song wasn't loud, it wasn't fast, and it wasn't exciting. It hardly rose to a fraction of the volume Old Time Rock & Roll did, except for one segment where Dylan shouted "On the ROAD AGAIN!" only to bring his voice back down into something familiarly somber. "Here I go... Turn the page." He played the song in its entirety, offering none of his own spin to it or remixing it. It was as the great Bob Seger wrote it, or as close as Dylan could get to it with just one guitar. Such an opus deserved to be kept the same. Any attempts to improve or add onto it would only serve to hinder what was already perfect.

The song ended, but the crowd did not cheer, at least not immediately. Dylan lowered his paw from the string, signaling its end. Only then did they reward him with deafening applause, an uproar just as fervent as the one before it. He nodded at them and shot them a wave. With the tears held back in his eyes, he thanked them. "Y'all we're great. Goodnight." He stood off of the stool and gathered his guitar, all the while the crowd started cheering even louder. He walked through the floor, between the tables, happy to finally see their beaming faces and clapping hands.

"Good job!"

"Loved it!"

"Fucking amazing dude!"

Was he dreaming? Were they just patronizing him? If it was either or both of those things, he simply didn't give a shit. It was his night. He was going to fucking enjoy it. To his immense pleasure, All Down Here was standing around the hallway to the backrooms. They all wore brilliant smiles, and the moment he approached them he was bombarded with congratulations. He thanked them profusely, although at that moment he was trying to get past them so he could put his guitar case back in the waiting room so that he could come back and enjoy the rest of the show. He broke past them when he heard Meghan's voice above the rest. "Hell of a good show." Without looking at her, Dylan told her "thanks", although it wasn't hard to see how hard his floofy coontail flicked when she said that.

He put his guitar case back in the waiting room and came back to the floor where he sat down at the bar. He was instantly clobbered with more praise and admiration. A few folk clapped him on the back. He appreciated it greatly, but at the moment all he cared about was getting a drink. He had accidentally left his full glass of water at the bar when he left to go on stage. After half an hour of singing his heart out in front of the hot spotlights, he had worked up a serious thirst. Fortunately Jeff was there to look out for him. He didn't have to ask before another glass of nice and cold water was set in front of him. It was the exact same temperature and the exact same source as the last time, but now it tasted like the coldest, crispiest, freshest glass of water he ever guzzled. It was gone in seconds. Jeff got ready to refill it, but Dylan waved him off. He wanted a beer instead.

A few minutes passed and the staff started putting up All Down Here's equipment. A drum kit, a keyboard, and some guitars were put up on stage. Dylan's stool was snatched away. Grace walked back on stage. She asked the crowd if they were ready for All Down Here. Everyone, Dylan included, cheered loudly. With that approval in place, she called them up on stage. The six of them climbed onto stage one by one. The moment the second person was up there Dylan realized how cramped it was going to be. Michael's insane width wasn't helping. Soon they were crammed onto that tiny platform like sardines. They didn't seem bothered, however, and moved along like there was nothing wrong.

Meghan's voice echoed out the speakers. "How're y'all doin' tonight?"

"Great!" answered Dylan, along with several others.

"Good to hear! Good to hear. Tell you what, give another round of applause for my boy Dylan over there." She pointed her paw at him. "He was great, wasn't he?" The crowd agreed through more American applause, to which Dylan smiled and nodded humbly. "He's just the cutest, ain't he?" Laughter rolled out, to which Dylan blushed. "Well, we got some good stuff for y'all tonight. I hope you enjoy it."

Their first song was a cover of Queen's Don't Stop Me Now, one they had infused with a much more ardent, punk attitude. Meghan's voice was strong and unwavering, yelling every one one of Freddie Mercury's lines with as much vigor and spirit as the late, great performer ever could. Just as mesmerizing was the way she moved. She gripped the microphone like her life depended on it. The highest notes made her lips furl and reveal her gnarly assortment of Hyena teeth. It made her delivery seem all the more impactful. It made Dylan's heart soar, although he didn't know much of that could be attributed to the alcohol he was consuming. Either way, she was an absolute gift to watch and listen to. They followed that song with a few more Queen hits, including Somebody to Love and Bicycle Race. What followed were their originals. Much like the band themselves, Dylan couldn't quite put his thumb down on what kind of rock it was. It was every facet of old, new, and punk rolled into one. Just when one song nailed a genre down, one would follow it and mess his whole perception up. Whatever it could've been classified as, Dylan loved it. The fact that it was the beautiful Meghan delivering it all up front helped tremendously. He could've sat there and watched them all night.

Sadly, the night had to come to and end, and they finished their performance with a rousing encore. It got everyone on their feet at the end of it. Dylan was sure he clapped the loudest, repaying their kindness to him in full. Meghan gave one final thanks to the crowd and wished them a goodnight. With that, they slowly filed off the stage, and the crowd started to disperse. Dylan made his way straight through the floor, up to the stage where they were walking off. He caught them with their instruments in their paws, trying to get to the back rooms where they could pack up and leave for good. Meghan had just stepped off the stage when she found herself blocked off by him. "That was awesome! I totally loved it!" The band was happy to hear it, but they could offer nothing more in return than a few polite smiles and nods. They were all dead tired and wanted to get back to their homes and pass out for the night.They walked past Dylan like zombies, leaving the bar staff to dismantle their instruments. The exhaustion of playing a two hour set hung on their backs like lead blankets. Dylan strode up to Meghan. "Hey! I thought you were great!" he told her, his voice lowered down towards a whisper.

"Yeah, thanks. You were too." Her voice crackled with the strain of someone who had just pulled, pushed, and stretched it to its absolute minute for two hours straight, although she still managed to talk with an amiable attitude.

"Yeah, thanks. I, uhh..." He scratched the back of his head. "Thanks for saying what you said up there."

She smirked. "What? What did I say?"

"Um... You know..."

"No. I don't. Refresh me."

He laughed nervously. Maybe this was the witty remark he had been expecting out of her since they met. "You said I was cute."

"Yeah, and I meant it." She nodded her head towards the back hall. "Come on. We're packing up to leave. You can help." Dylan got his guitar case then followed them to behind the building where their van was waiting for them. He, the band, and the staff spent time packing everything up. Once the last piece of equipment was inside, the van doors slammed shut with a satisfying wham. Everyone said their goodbyes and departed to head home. Meghan stayed behind to light a cigarette. The two of them stood alone in the back lot underneath the insect-swarmed streetlamps. Dylan had his paws in his pocket, awkwardly waiting for her to take the first tug on her cigarette. She saw him watching from the corner of her eye. She exhaled a double-fountain of smoke through her pierced nostrils. "So," she said. "What are you gonna do now?"

Dylan jolted a little, realizing how awkward he may have looked. "Well, I don't know. I was gonna head back to the hotel and go to sleep."

"No, I mean now that you've performed here. You gonna stay here? Or are you gonna skip town for somewhere else?"

"Well..." He took a deep breath, tasting some of her smoke. "I haven't thought that far yet. I might stay here for the rest of the week, or I might leave tomorrow morning. I just go where my heart takes me." He scoffed. "I know that sounds cheesy."

She shook her head. "Not at all. I know what that's like." She took another drag on her cigarette. "I spent a long time wondering whether I should do music like this. Played a lot in high school, but didn't think it'd get me anywhere. Lots of people told me to go the safe route. Y'know I got a business degree? Haven't done shit with it. Still payin' it off."

"Yeah, you told me."

"Not gonna lie, you got some balls for what you did. Wish I followed my heart like you did. Well, I mean I did, but not out the get-go."

Dylan shrugged. "I almost didn't do it. Few people tried to talk me out of it too, but I guess them telling me not to just goaded me to do it more. I loved hearing and reading stories about guys who went out and forged their own lives through music, the kind who lived fast and died young. I mean, I don't have a death wish or anything, but I don't want to waste a day of my life doing things that don't make me happy."

"I hear that." The cigarette was almost gone. "What'd your parents say?"

"They didn't like it, not at first, but I think they came around, a little at least. I kinda told them that I was being a man making my own decisions. That got my dad on my side, maybe my Mom. I don't know. I still talk to them. I'll call them and tell them how tonight went."

Meghan offered a genuine smile. "That's good to hear."

"Yeah, but... I think I still would've done this even if they didn't approve, and that's what gets me the most." He looked down, off into space. "I love my parents, I really do, but them and that town really held me back, or at least I told myself. I kept thinking that I didn't care what they thought of me, but I don't know." He took another deep breath, imagining that there was a cigarette between his teeth. He didn't smoke, but a cigarette would've felt pretty good. "There's a quote I always try to remember at least once a day, 'I'd rather be hated for who I am than be loved for who I'm not'. I think of that, then try to keep trucking on."

Meghan had grown silent. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. The cigarette, now burnt down to the filter, dangled between her knuckles. "Kurt Cobain," she said.

Dylan's face brightened. "Yeah, one of my heroes."

"Mine too." Her deep brown eyes looked him up and down. "Are you doing anything for the rest of the night?"

Caught off guard by the question, he quickly pulled his phone out. It was 11:23. Normally he'd be asleep, or getting ready to be. "No. What's up?"

"You wanna maybe hang out at my place, or at your hotel?"

Dylan's heart went silent for a moment, then flew itself into hyperdrive. He barelystifled a rapid intake of air through his nose. Heat rose to his cheeks like oil floating to the surface of water. "Ah..." He knew what the answer was, but saying it proved a challenge. He had to blink a few times to bring himself back to the real world.

"I mean, if the answer is no that's OK," she said.

"No! I mean, yeah... Yeah, I'd love to."

"Awesome." The cigarette fell from her fingers. She stomped and twisted it out. "Think we can do it at your place? My place is a wreck."

Dylan didn't know how proper it was to bring a girl to a cheap hotel, but if she insisted. "Yeah. Um, we can go there."

"Great." She gestured towards the bar. "Lead the way."

He straightened his back. "Yeah!" He led her down the alleyway to the street where his van was waiting for them. He fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the door for her. She gave him a coy look and sat down in the passenger seat. He closed the door and bounded around the front for the driver's side, his long brown hair whipping behind him. God, I must look like a dork. He popped the door open and settled down inside. Meghan had her head craned over the side of the seat, looking at the catastrophe that was the back of the van. "Sorry about that," he said, cutting the engine on. "I've been surviving back there for about a week now."

"Oh no! Don't be sorry. I think it's cool." She sat back in her seat. "Livin' the life I see. Not bad."

He eked out a laugh. "Yeah, you could say that." They rode to the La Quinta in silence. The only noise was the radio, currently humming a song neither of them paid attention to. His paws gripped the top half of the steering wheel tightly. He darted his eyes at her, making sure she was comfortable. She sat there with her arms crossed, watching the city pass by outside her window. The passing lights shined through the wisp of pink hair that stuck out from the front of her beanie. She turned around to look at him. He quickly looked away, but not in time for her to miss him looking. She didn't say anything. Instead she resumed looking out the window, a little smirk on her face.

They pulled into the parking lot. He made to open the door for her after he got out, but she was standing outside of the van by the time he got to her side. "I got it, thanks," she said, then waltzed past him with a tangibly confident energy. They strode to the hotel and got into the elevator. The metallic doors shut in front of them, leaving their muddled reflections to stare back. Dylan kneaded his palms. He was so much smaller than her, yet her presence was that of a titan's. When the doors opened, he darted through them and turned around to see her still standing right where he left her.

"Come on," he said. "This way."

She got out of the elevator with a single, long stride. "Hurry up, before I change my mind." He didn't have to be told twice. She followed him down the few hallways until they made it to his room. He unlocked the door and invited her inside. She went in, and he followed. The door shut behind him with a punctual clack. She turned around to face him and started kicking off her shoes. She peeled her beanie off, revealing the chaotic beauty of her pink-frosted hair. Next came her tank top, bringing to light her lithe trunk and pieced navel. Her dark-blue bra clung to her breasts tightly, revealing the location of her nipples. She came to a stop. "Well, are you gonna join me or are you gonna stand there and watch?"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry." He grabbed his foot and yanked off his boot, then the other. He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, then lifted his shirt off. Meghan got a good look at his thin frame, nicely accentuated by his pecs and abs. A sharp V ran down into his beltline, between his hips. He unzipped his pants and pulled them down, leaving him in only his light blue boxers and white socks. Meghan slid her pants off too, showing off her beige panties. She approached him first, sauntering up to him with one foot stepping out in front of the other. Dylan's heart raced like it had before his performance. What he was about to do with her felt just as clutch. His eyes fell right into the gap of her pert bosom, something that pressed into his trunk when she came up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She stood on her toes, closed her eyes, and kissed his mouth.

Just like that, every bit of stress Dylan had suffered through in those past few days seemed to melt away. He lifted his big paws and settled them on her lower back, just above the swell of her rump. Her short hyena tail swayed between the tips of his fingers. He rubbed them closer together so that he could feel the smooth plain of her fur and the soft upper slope of her ass. She pressed into him with both her lips and her body. Their kisses smacked loudly through the otherwise silent hotel room. The tips of their tongues brushed one another. The bottom of her tummy flattened against his loins where she could feel the heat of his hardening penis. It sped up a reaction of her own, one that had started since they sat next to each other on the couch only a few hours ago.

Dylan's paw slid down and covered her haunch. She murred into his mouth while his fingers sank into her fur. His other paw came up and unclasped her bra. The straps swung down, and the two of them separated to let it fall. Her breasts fell into their natural shape, nicely soft and cute. A pair of chocolate brown nipples stared back at Dylan, stiffening in the AC before his very eyes. Much to his surprise, they were not pierced. He covered one with his paw and felt the tickle of her nipple against his paw pad. They resumed kissing. Her hips swayed into the grasp of his paw, content to have her breast so intimately examined. He creeped a finger into the leg of her panties and pulled it down. Her butt came free only half way before she stepped away from him and pushed them all the way down to her ankles. Dylan could see the neat part in her flesh that was her cunny, and the wiry thatch of fuzz above it. He was just getting ready to pull his own underwear down when she grabbed his waistband and did him the honor.

His half-hardened penis swung free and bobbed twice upon being released. Meghan was eye-level with it, and instantly enamored. Dylan was a shy, skinny man, but his sex organ was anything but. His shaft hung from his loins with a notable audacity. It was a dark brown color, close to black, swaddled with veins so thick that Meghan thought she could ride them. His foreskin was halfway back along the head, gradually peeling itself back across the epic girth of his glans. Slowly his penis stiffened into a rod, becoming a nicely sized article of reproduction that Meghan immediately planned on becoming familiar with.

Dylan saw her gawking at it. He had to resist the urge to say something about it. To him, even the most modest comment regarding his size would come off as a humble brag. Meghan did it for him. She closed her paw around his shaft and stroked it, pulling the foreskin on and off his cock helmet. "Goddamn... You've got a cannon here, boy," she quipped.

He winced at her touch. It felt good. 'Mmf, thanks..."

"I hardly know what to do with it~" Her paw grasped him from hilt to head. She used her other paw to hold it and saw that an entire inch of it still remained outside of her clutch.

"Well, if you keep touching it it might do something."

"Yeah? Like this?" With her eyes locked on his, she leaned in towards his pecker and planted a tiny smooch on his tip. Her pink tongue crept out through her lips and glanced across the underside of his glans.

His buttocks shuddered. "Y-yeah... Like that~"

She closed her eyes and enveloped his dome with her lips. She suckled on him sweetly, never going further down his significant length than more than an inch. Her tongue did cute little swirls wherever she could put it. Every bead of metallic-tasting precum that bled from his slit was gobbled along with a serious flood of spit she had accumulated in her mouth. Dylan's jaw was slack and his breathing stilted. Watching her gobble his cock was surreal, considering he had seen it singing beautiful music not long ago. He rested his paw on her scalp and grabbed a handful of her hair. "Fuhhh..." he moaned.

He heard a smug chuckle sound out through her nose. She came off his cock with a faint mwah. Full strands of her spit connected her lips and his tip. Her paw stroked his cock while she smiled up at him, showing off those enormous teeth. "Want me to make you cum while I'm down here?"

"I don't know. Ah... It feels pretty good." That was an understatement. An intense pressure had settled around his balls, demanding to be drained. Just a few more moments of kissing and stroking and he would do so all over her face. But that wasn't what he wanted. "Maybe, get on the bed? On your paws and knees." He cleared his throat. I'm kinda tall so you might want to get on the edge so I can stand on the floor."

He feared that he was asking too much. He was assuaged when she stood up and kissed him one more time on the lips. She gave his dick an added tug. "You got it~" He had the pleasure of watching her walk to the bed with her back turned. Her short yeen tail swayed and her chubby buttocks grinded with each step. She climbed the bed and got into position, aiming her ass at him with her feet hanging just over the edge so that he could see her thick paw pads. More eye-catching was the deep canyon between her haunches; there he could see her petite brown pucker and thick-lipped cunt, already drooling with feminine arousal. She looked over her shoulder and swayed her behind at him. "C'mere~"

He obeyed in an instant, practically jogging up to her with his emboldened penis flopping away in front of him. He stood right behind her, his hips lining up nicely with hers. He took time to grab another pawful of her ass, this time with much more force. He slid his thumb into her crack and pulled one cheek apart so that he could get a good look at her cunny. The tip of his cock hovered near it. His manhood was hot, but what was emanating out of her was positively radiant. It glistened with moisture. His nose crinkled under the not-unpleasant smell it emitted. He grabbed his penis and pressed it to her slit.

She gasped ever so softly. "Ohh..." He rubbed around her vulva, teasing her fat lips around and listening to the nasty schlick-schlick of her flesh. Delight shimmered down his penis and rippled across his loins. He flexed his pole against her, giving her a taste of what awaited her. Finally, he made the first push which split her flower open and laid claim to the first section of her insides. "Huhhhh... Uhhhhh..." He went slowly, watching as inch after inch disappeared inside of her. Just the sight of her cunt gaping around him and the sound of it squelching made his heart leap. He slid down to the last quadrant of his length where he felt her cavity resist him. He came to a stop and grabbed her hips. Her velvet tunnel gripped and quivered on him desperately. Her every breath was hung with a throaty moan. Her head swooned. "Yes... That's good... Oh~"

"Y-yeah..." he huffed. "It is."

"God, Dylan... Fuck me, please... Oh God..."

He gulped and sighed. "Yeah... Yeah... OK." He pulled back his hips and thrusted forward, beginning the beloved sequence of tender love making. Meghan sounded off her delight with deep, undulating moans and chants of his name. Dylan panted hard and gasped with each push, marking every inch of her precious cavity with his exorbitance. It had been a while since his last romp with a woman; Meghan was only his second. His thrusts were a bit jerky and his balance off-kilter. Meghan certainly didn't seem to mind. Any of his struggles were covered over by the exquisite joy his gargantuan piston pummeled her with.

Her face fell into the sheets, muffling but not concealing her dramatic retorts. "Ohhh fuck... Huhhhh! Huhhh.... Yes... Yes... Ohhhhh... Huhhh... Huhhh... Dylan... Yes~"

Dylan tried to stay quiet, but he was loath to deny just how badly he and his body needed this. His swinging scrotum throbbed with each plunge, urging a more assertive assault on her pussy. Her kisses melted the stress away, now it was time to shed the residue off with a single, Homeric explosion. The temptation was strong, and indeed his tempo and depth increased over time, but he stopped himself from going too hard. He was enjoying this too much, and so was she. It would've been a travesty to end it so soon.

Alas, it had to end eventually. Dylan announced, with a cracking voice, that he was ready to cum. More pleasing than that feeling was hearing Meghan beg for him to follow through, to "cum the fuck inside of [her]." With such a vehement demand, he did as he was told, slamming his manhood home with one final climactic push. The two of their voices harmonized in one long groan while his cock spat forth a heavy dose of seed. The agonies he had suffered through blew away, filling out her cunt with several hearty pumps. He pulled out of her while huffing and puffing. A fat slag of molten ivory drooled out of her. More of it clung to his slit while his cock started to droop downwards. He stood there with bent knees, trying to catch his breath. Sweat was beading across his fur.

Meghan, meanwhile, sat up on her knees and did a big stretch. "Oh fuck... Yeah, that was amazing. Wow." She slumped forward and rolled onto her back. She squished her finger around her cunt, allowing more of Dylan's white oil to glop out of her. "You were wonderful~ Think you can go again?"

He had to be honest with her. "No. I'm totally beat. I think I might pass out if I try again."

"That's alright. That one was amazing enough~" She hopped off the bed and pecked him on the nose. "I'm gonna shower this off. You can join me if you want."

"That sounds great, but I think I'll clean up in here and go to bed."

"Alright then." She walked past him and swatted a friendly spank across his butt. "Good night, big guy~"

He recoiled his scrawny butt away from her, rubbing it and laughing. "Yeah, goodnight."

Meghan took her shower and cleared the gunk away from her crotch. She toweled herself off when she was done and came back into the room to find the sheets they had fucked on crumpled onto the floor. Dylan was in the other bed, lying on his side with no covers on. The pillow was clamped underneath his head. He was already asleep. With his performance, both on stage and elsewhere, playing again and again in her mind, she knew how well he deserved his sleep. Being extra careful not to wake him, she crawled into bed behind him, formed the larger spoon, and nuzzled her face into the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes, and in just a few minutes the both of them were asleep.