{"sf1_id":249,"sf2_id":"rn9xWAqm","title":"Clay","author":"Wirewolf","words":5460,"posted_at":"2002-12-01T19:35:00.000Z","tags":["M/F","Rabbit","Raccoon"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/249-clay","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/rn9xWAqm","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/c6/f6/c6f60e85-7cc0-4687-a3b9-77e8f43a6aa3","description":"","content":" Clay  \n  \n(c)2002, Wirewolf  \n  \nThe rain didn't help at all. What should have been a simple one-mile walk had become  \na three-mile bus ride because of the rain. Worse, her long ears kept getting tangled in the  \nunderside of the old umbrella she'd borrowed from her neighbor. Several sharp pinches  \nhad convinced her it was better to hold them down and worry about sore muscles later.  \nShe didn't want to risk cutting her sensitive ears on one of the umbrella's hidden metal  \nedges.  \n  \nThe umbrella wasn't doing much to keep her dry, anyway. The wind was whipping  \naround, getting her clothes damp. That meant her fur was also getting damp. She could  \nsmell it. She suspected the humans around her could too.  \n  \nEssa thought about going home. She could have easily folded the troublesome umbrella  \nand walked back to her tiny apartment. She could have picked up her 5 year old son,  \nRoem, from the neighbor who'd loaned her the umbrella and spent the rest of that dreary  \nSaturday playing with him.  \n  \nBut Roem started school in a month, and he needed two more shots and some school  \nclothes. She needed the money, and Jaspar had promised her seventy dollars to sit for  \nhim.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Thoughts of her ex-boyfriend surged through her. She remembered long nights spent  \nposing for him while he painted or sculpted her lithe genemorphic rabbit body. He used  \nto work with her only at night. He wanted complete control of the light, he'd said. Essa  \nsuspected it was because he'd wanted his neighbors to think he was getting laid more  \noften than they were. Jaspar was like that: always competitive with people who probably  \nweren't even paying attention to him.  \n  \nWhen the bus pulled up to the stop, she waited until everyone else had boarded and  \nswiped their cards before she got on. The doors closed behind her and the bus's  \npneumatic suspension raised itself to driving height. She swiped her bus pass through the  \nreader and looked to the seats. Clutching the folded umbrella to her chest, she saw there  \nwere not many empty seats.  \n  \nToward the back, she spotted two caniforms sitting together, surrounded by a row of  \nempty seats on each side. They were dressed in heavy work clothes and wore steel-toed  \nboots. They smelled of oil, earth and exhaustion. The grease on their frayed shirts told  \nher they were probably mechanics. The mud on their boots hinted that they worked at a  \nconstruction site, possibly the new apartment building being raised downtown.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She made her way to the row of seats in front of the two mechanics and sat down near  \nthe window. She turned her head to look out the rain-streaked window and tried her best  \nto ignore everyone else on the bus.  \n  \nIt was impossible, of course. The elderly human couple sitting in the row in front of her  \ndidn't speak or move, but she could smell their nervousness. Lots of humans still felt  \nuneasy around genemorphs, even smaller breeds like hers. Her acute hearing let her  \ncatch a single muttered phrase from several rows behind.  \n  \n\"God, I can smell them from here.\"  \n  \nThat was followed by a chuckle and a soft, \"Quiet, they'll hear you.\"  \n  \nWhat she noticed most, however, was the interest of the two caniforms behind her.  \nEssa had no delusions about how she appeared to other genemorphs. She was small,  \nthin, and had none of the features that seemed to draw most males of most species. And  \nyet she could smell arousal from one of the mechanics. She hoped they would get off the  \nbus soon, or at least leave her alone until her stop.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Essa's ears kept twitching. It wasn't the humans unhappy about her presence that  \nbothered her, nor the possibility of being harassed by the dogs behind her. She was  \nnervous about seeing Jaspar again. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, and she  \nreally didn't want to be reminded of their jagged personal history. For his part, Jaspar  \nhad left her alone after their breakup. He wasn't so easily forgotten, though.  \n  \nShe thought of the few portraits she kept hanging on her walls. The one of her and  \nRoem was a treasure to her, and the watercolor Jaspar had done of the immense oak tree  \nin her back yard looked perfectly at home in the living room. And tucked away in the  \ncloset, behind a box of her son's old toys, was the self-portrait he'd done. She just didn't  \nhave the heart to get rid of it. She supposed she could have returned it to him, but that  \nseemed even crueler than simply leaving it out with the morning trash.  \n  \nIf only his eyes hadn't been so easily turned, she thought with a touch of melancholy.  \nOf his many flaws, his constant need to find a new fem was the only one she couldn't  \nhandle. They'd had potential as a couple; she'd felt it from the moment they first met.  \nBut after a few months of listening to his halfhearted excuses for his behavior, she  \nrealized he wouldn't change, not for her.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Essa wondered if Jaspar would want to make love after the session. That was how  \nthey'd ended most of her sittings when they'd been together. He wasn't the most talented  \nlover she'd ever had, or the most endowed. He'd made up for his shortfalls, though, with  \nenergy. Lots of it. Never once had they finished without her soaked in sweat and her  \nnerves humming from more than one orgasm.  \n  \nIt had been a long time, she realized. Almost a year, in fact. Thinking about those  \nnights did nothing to calm her nerves. Memories of heated groping, the air filled with  \nmusky scents and soft, wet sounds made her ache with longing. Almost a year since  \nanyone had touched her with passion, held her, stroked her.  \n  \nHer ears dropped in embarrassment when she scented her own arousal. She cursed  \nJaspar silently, even as she longed to feel him caress her. A soft whine from one of the  \ndogs behind her made her get up. The bus was close enough and she didn't want to start  \nsomething she wasn't prepared to finish. Without looking behind her, she got off two  \nstops early and walked the rest of the way. No one else got off the bus with her.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Jaspar believed in image. Image was how he made his living, after all. Even if he'd not  \nbeen an artist he still would have been obsessed with presenting the right image. The old  \nwarehouse he rented fit the stereotypical perception of an independent artist. It's faded  \ncorporate signs and crumbling brick façade gave the outward appearance of disdain for  \nthe outside world. Inside, it was a huge, undisciplined space filled with the many forms  \nof expression to which Jaspar had taken.  \n  \nEssa had to push the call button several times before Jaspar came to the door. She  \nwaited in the warm drizzle, feeling somewhat oppressed by the gray light cast through the  \ncloudy skies overhead. It was the moment she'd dreaded most. How would he react to  \nseeing her again? How would she feel? Would he try to rekindle their relationship? Did  \nshe want him to?  \n  \nEventually, the tall, heavy steel door opened. It swung only a few feet before it  \nscreeched to a halt, grinding its bottom edge against the broken concrete stairs. Behind it  \nwas a short, portly, middle-aged raccoon. \"There you are,\" he said, his voice soft but  \nserious. \"Come in.\" He turned and walked back into his studio.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Essa paused, surprised. That certainly wasn't the reaction she had expected from him.  \nShe shook out the umbrella and closed it before she leaned it against the wall next to the  \nclothes tree. It took only a moment to slip off the token clothes she wore. They were to  \nprevent being stopped by police enforcing the 'public decency' laws. She ran her blunt  \nclaws through her thick brown pelt where her clothes had pressed against her fur, sighing  \nsoftly. Once her blouse and shorts were hanging on the clothes tree, she ventured further  \ninto Jaspar's studio.  \n  \nShe could spot the differences right away. When she'd left, the majority of his private  \nprojects were some depiction of her and her body. The paintings of her, the sculptures  \nand sketches of her in sundry poses were all gone now. In their place were unfamiliar  \nworks portraying a sultry young feliform with pale orange and white fur. She'd never  \nseen the fem before, but that didn't surprise her. In the time since they'd split up she  \nfigured he'd most likely had several new women come and go.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Something was wrong, though. The corner of his studio where he did his commissions  \nwas full, cluttered with works in progress. She could see a bland looking portrait of a  \nbland looking caniform dressed in a human-style suit, the paint glinting faintly in the  \nlight as it dried.  \n  \nThe feliform, however, seemed abandoned, ignored. A thin layer of dust covered all the  \npieces, including a half finished sketch laying over the back of the old office chair Jaspar  \nused for some of his still life modeling.  \n  \n\"Want something to drink?\" he asked.  \n  \nShe looked over at him. He had one hand on the open door of his refrigerator and the  \nother holding a bottle of Red Eagle beer. He held up the bottle as an invitation. \"Sure,\"  \nshe said. \"You mind if I dry off before we start?\"  \n  \n\"Go right ahead. You know where the bathroom is.\" Jaspar got a second beer and  \nclosed the refrigerator door.  \n  \nThe damp in her fur had caused it to peak something awful, and it would start her skin  \nitching soon if she didn't dry off. That wasn't the only reason she wanted to use his fur  \ndryer, though.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The bathroom was actually a converted storage room, far larger than it needed to be.  \nSome of Jaspar's art supplies were stacked in a corner, next to a pile of rumpled towels.  \nOverhead, a window to the outside leaked rainwater. It coursed down the wall to the  \nshelf that held the few toiletries Jaspar used. Mounted on the opposite wall, far away  \nfrom the leak or other sources of water, was the fur dryer. She turned it on to a low heat  \nsetting and stood with her back to it.  \n  \nTaking the long-handled pelt brush from its nearby hook, she fluffed out the fur of her  \nback. While she ran the stiff bristled brush between her shoulder blades, she looked  \naround for signs of another occupant. As she suspected, there were none. Whoever the  \nfeliform was, she had thoroughly removed her presence from Jaspar's studio. Only his  \nart remained.  \n  \nShe turned around, feeling a little smug. Jaspar had always looked at females the same  \nway he looked at the mediums of his art. They were something to be shaped, altered, and  \nenhanced by his skill and vision. He had, in fact, once referred to Essa as being 'clay',  \nsoft and malleable. She'd proved him wrong by leaving.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She didn't linger in front of the fur dryer. Considering how easily she'd found herself  \naroused on the bus, she didn't want to get herself worked up before they got started. She  \nwas quite businesslike as she worked out the peaks of fur on her stomach and breasts.  \nShe used a higher heat setting to do the fur on her lower body, to help speed up the  \nprocess.  \n  \nFinished, she looked herself over in the eight-foot mirror mounted next to the dryer.  \nHer soft brown fur was lustrous. Turning slightly, she could see the faint swirling stripes  \nof lighter colors. Clay indeed! If anything, he should have called her 'mahogany.'  \nUnder just the right light, her pelt gave the appearance of being carved of that rich,  \nbeautiful wood.  \n  \nFeeling better about being back in Jaspar's studio, she sauntered casually toward his  \nkitchen area. She stopped to run her hands over the large rectangular chunk of raw  \nmarble that stood against the east wall of the studio. It was the most expensive thing  \nJaspar owned. It was largely gray with ribbons of black and dots of silver liberally  \ndispersed throughout. It had been given to him to use for a commission. When the  \nwealthy buyer died unexpectedly, Jaspar managed to hang on to the slab. He'd said he  \nintended to make a genemorphic version of Michelangelo's \"David\" from it. Instead, it  \nsat against the wall, waiting.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Running her fingerpads over the cool surface of the stone, she happened to look over at  \nJaspar. She froze, seeing him as she'd never seen him before. He looked...nervous. Yes,  \nthat was the only word for it. He was unmistakably nervous.  \n  \nThe raccoon she'd known was the definition of confidence. He was a successful artist,  \nsought after by clients and women alike, certain he could obtain anything he wanted. It  \ninstilled a measure of arrogance to his nature, but it was tempered by his love of beautiful  \nthings, both inanimate and living.  \n  \nAs she hid behind the marble slab, she could see all that was gone. She couldn't help  \nwondering if it had left with the feliform. Perhaps the cat had taken it from him.  \nWhatever had happened, it had left him looking like a distraught teenager, in need of  \ncomfort and guidance. She watched a moment longer as he fiddled with, and nearly  \ndropped, his bottle of beer. He put it down and rubbed his muzzle.  \n  \nEssa stepped from behind the slab, the smugness gone from her. Jaspar was a decent  \nguy at heart, and it bothered her to see him like this.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"So, how have you been?\"  \n  \nJaspar looked up, the expression of confidence forced back into place. He hid his  \nnervousness well. He gave only a slight hint that she could scent. His voice was calm  \nand smooth as he said, \"Busy, mostly. You?\"  \n  \nShe nodded agreement. \"My department's been working a lot of overtime. It's hard on  \nRoem. He doesn't understand.\"  \n  \nJaspar grunted his sympathy and handed her the bottle he'd opened for her. \"How's the  \nkit doing?\"  \n  \nEssa took a careful sip of the beer, letting her throat get used to the gentle sting of  \nalcohol. \"He's still growing into his feet.\" She took a larger swallow. \"He's looking  \nforward to school. He wants to make lots of friends.\"  \n  \nThe raccoon nodded silently. He stared at her a moment, a trace of his nervousness  \nreturning to his face. \"I'm glad you came. I've been thinking about you lately.\"  \n  \n\"Oh?\" She was curious now. Jaspar hadn't said why he'd wanted her to sit for him  \nagain. She'd assumed he had a client who'd seen one of the pieces he'd done of her and  \ncommissioned a new work. Perhaps she'd assumed wrong.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Jaspar moved closer to her and lowered his voice. \"I've been...reminiscing about how  \nwell we worked together.\" He smiled at her, that heart-melting smile of his. \"You know,  \nyou were the best model I ever had, before or since.\" He reached out with his free hand  \nand stroked the fur of her nearest arm.  \n  \nThat was the trigger, the one she'd prepared herself for long before she'd even left her  \napartment. She liked him, had loved him once. But that didn't change who they were.  \nShe barely hesitated to say the words she'd rehearsed.  \n  \n\"It won't work, Jaspar.\"  \n  \nTaken off guard, all the raccoon could say was, \"Huh?\"  \n  \nEssa studied him a moment. A deep breath helped to fortify her. \"This is old territory,\"  \nshe said, not unkindly. \"I don't want to walk it again.\"  \n  \nShe couldn't help but feel bad for him as she watched him slide from surprise to  \ndisappointment, then to his oldest, strongest defense: indifference. She hadn't wanted to  \nhurt him in any way. She knew, however, that getting tangled up in a relationship with  \nhim again would eventually hurt both of them. It was simply better this way.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"If that's how you feel.\" He waved toward the long, cloth upholstered couch in the  \ncenter of the living area. \"I was thinking of a simple recline, left side, with your left arm  \npropping your chin and your right laying on your hip.\" Turning, he stalked off into the  \nbathroom.  \n  \nEssa was surprised she'd won so easily. Jaspar could be most obstinate when he wanted  \nsomething, or someone. She couldn't help feeling smug again. She'd won the argument  \nbefore it had really begun.  \n  \nHer satisfaction dimmed quickly, though. It wasn't like him at all. What could be  \nbothering him so much that it would change his behavior to such an extent? Was  \nsomething seriously wrong? Was he sick?  \n  \nJaspar reappeared carrying a 5-pound block of sculpting clay. Essa watched him  \nintently. No, she decided, he didn't look or move like he was ill. She already knew he  \ndidn't smell of any illness. She would have noticed that the instant he'd met her at the  \ndoor.  \n  \nHer ears drooped in mild embarrassment when Jaspar planted his empty hand on his  \nwide hip and said, \"Well?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Sorry,\" she said quietly as she set her beer down and assumed the requested pose.  \n  \nThe morphic raccoon pulled up a stool and a small worktable with a nonstick top. He  \nthumped his clay down and settled into his work. He kneaded it and rolled it until he  \nreacquainted himself with the clay. Then he began working it into its basic form.  \n  \nThe hardest part of sitting for Jaspar was that he wanted to work in silence. Essa had  \nsuggested music on several occasions, only to be rebuffed. Any time she tried to start a  \nconversation, he would interrupt with, \"I'm working.\"  \n  \nWhile Jaspar was forcing the clay to his will, Essa wondered. What had happened to  \nhim? Had the feliform hurt him so badly? Was his age starting to bother him? He'd  \nonce had a few too many Red Eagles and confided the only detail about his family he'd  \never mentioned in her presence. His particular line of raccoon genemorphs had a history  \nof severe arthritis. Perhaps his slim, nimble hands were starting to hurt him. Losing the  \nability to easily express himself with his many forms of art was something he feared.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; As Essa watched him address the clay, it seemed he was not hampered in any physical  \nway. His black furred hands appeared to be doing what he wanted without any scent of  \npain. He wasn't trembling or stiff in his movements.  \n  \nThen she happened to notice the set of his ears. They were canted back a bit, as though  \nhe were struggling with his feelings. She watched a while, paying more attention to his  \nface than his hands. The longer she watched, the more concerned she became. In a  \nmatter of minutes he seemed to waver more and more between frustration and anger.  \n  \nWhen he stopped moving altogether, she finally spoke up. \"Are you alright?\"  \n  \n\"I'm fine,\" he said without looking at her. His scent said otherwise, but she didn't  \nargue. He applied himself to his work again. She could smell the faintest trace of fear  \nfrom him now. Glancing down at his hands, she was surprised to see that he was having  \ntrouble with the basic form of her reclining figure. Her body was all out of proportion,  \nand he didn't seem able to fix it. He'd tried using intentional exaggeration in his style  \nonce, but hadn't liked the result.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Jaspar suddenly wrapped his nimble hands around the clay and crushed it into a  \nformless lump, startling her. \"I don't like this pose,\" he said darkly. He looked up at her,  \nhis ears quivering. \"Try...try sitting up. Umm, cross your ankles and spread your knees a  \nlittle. Yes, now...uh, now lay your arms across your stomach with your palms up. No,  \nlike...\" He held his arms to demonstrate and she copied him. \"Yes, now lay your head  \nback and drape your ears behind you. Good, that's good. Push your shoulders back a  \nlittle. There. Now hold that.\"  \n  \nEssa could no longer see him with her head laid across the back of the couch, but she  \ncould easily hear the smack of the clay hitting the table as he reformed it. She closed her  \neyes and concentrated on the sounds echoing in the large studio. She could hear the  \nslight squelch of the clay being rudely forced into its new shape. Once Jaspar had the  \nbasic form, he began drawing his fingerpads over the model, pressing here and there to  \nalter the shape in more subtle ways. All she could hear now was the tiny creaks his seat  \nmade and his distressed breathing.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The stool stopped creaking and Jaspar was breathing hard. Essa didn't move until she  \nsmelled the intense scent of his anguish. She raised her head to see Jaspar staring at a  \nclay model that looked only vaguely like her.  \n  \n\"I can't do it,\" he whispered. \"I just...\" He looked so forlorn, so lost.  \n  \n\"Jaspar?\" she said quietly.  \n  \nHe raised his hands before him and it shocked her to see them shaking. Essa suddenly  \nfeared something \\*was\\* physically wrong with him. The look on his face showed equal  \nparts grief and resignation.  \n  \nThe alarm was evident in her voice when she asked, \"Jaspar? What is it? What's  \nwrong?\"  \n  \nThe raccoon dropped his clay-crusted hands to his lap and closed his eyes. \"Essa,\" he  \nsaid softly. \"Am I still attractive?\"  \n  \nAttractive? Was that all? She almost laughed in relief, but held back when she realized  \nhow serious this was to him.  \n  \nShe took a moment to look at him. To her eyes, he hadn't changed much. There was a  \ntouch of gray on his muzzle that hadn't been there before, and his paunch had expanded a  \nbit. Beyond his physical form, though, she saw what she had seen the first time they'd  \nmet. He was a highly talented artist and a man of immense passion. Even with his ears  \nlaid back and his muzzle tucked in defeat she could see what had attracted her to him.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Essa hesitated. She didn't want to admit those feelings any more. She'd tried to let  \nthem go, choosing instead to remember the hurt he'd caused her. She didn't want to be  \nhurt again.  \n  \nShe couldn't forget, though. That was simply impossible. She could no more ignore  \nmemories of Jaspar than she could ignore Roem. Seeing the pain on her old lover's face  \nstirred feelings of sympathy for him. Whether she liked it or not, she cared about Jaspar.  \n  \n\"Yes,\" she said quietly. \"You're still attractive.\"  \n  \nHe looked up at her. The struggle showed in his eyes. He wanted to believe her.  \n  \nEssa sighed, knowing she was going to regret her next words. She also knew she would  \nfeel worse if she said nothing. \"Jaspar, tell me what's wrong.\"  \n  \n\"Cinaal took my muse.\"  \n  \nShe waited patiently for him to say more. He didn't, and she shook her head. It wasn't  \nbad enough she felt sorry for him when she didn't want to. Now she was irritated  \nbecause he was making no sense.  \n  \n\"What do you mean? Who's Cinaal?\"  \n  \nThe raccoon simply turned his head to stare at the clutter of work depicting the feline  \nfem. That answered one question. Before she could ask the other, he spoke.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"She told me I'm an old fool. An ugly old fool who thinks everyone should love him.  \nShe called me a talented fraud.\" His voice had softened to a whisper and his ears were  \nhard against his skull.  \n  \nNow she understood. The feliform \\*had\\* hurt him. She'd found the weakest spot in his  \nego and torn into it mercilessly. She considered whether Cinaal had done it on purpose  \nor out of ignorance, but decided it didn't matter. The damage was done, and now her  \nconscience was telling her she would have to make things right.  \n  \nShe sighed. It hardly seemed fair. No one had comforted her when they'd separated.  \nWell, no one except Roem, who was far too young to know what she'd needed.  \n  \nEssa couldn't be bitter about it, though. Seeing the look on Jaspar's face, the dejection  \nin his eyes; she simply couldn't turn her back on him. \"Jaspar,\" she said quietly, \"It  \ndoesn't matter what she said. You're still the same person you always were, regardless  \nof what she said.\"  \n  \n\"No, you don't understand.\" The distress was heavy in his voice. \"I can't do anything  \nanymore. I can't draw, I can't paint, I can't sculpt. And I can't...\" He swallowed. \"I  \ncan't get anyone to sit for me. No one has time for me.\" He looked up at her, the corners  \nof his eyes glinting. \"I'm old and ugly and no one loves me. It's been months since I...\"  \nHe dropped his head to his hands in shame. \"Cinaal was the last. Now...\" Jaspar's thin  \nfingers pressed the sides of his head and a note of anger surfaced in his voice. \"Now I  \njack off in the bathroom like a kit hiding from his parents!\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Her conscience wobbled. The memory of seeing him lust after other fems still stung.  \nBut she also felt genuine sympathy for him. Worse, she felt the stirrings of her own  \narousal again. Even the half-formed idea of making love to Jaspar again made her nerves  \ntingle. She was only a little surprised to see her hand reach out for him.  \n  \nJaspar reacted to her light touch by gently grasping her hand and looking in her eyes.  \nHe rubbed his eyes with his other wrist, careful not to get any clay in them. He smiled  \nslightly, and Essa knew this had been his intent all along. She couldn't be angry with  \nhim for it, though. It was simply how he did things. He truly needed her right now, and  \nshe was feeling a similar need.  \n  \nBut that didn't make her feel any better about giving in to his needs. Essa had to know  \nthat this wouldn't end up the way their whole previous relationship had. She wanted to  \nask him, but didn't know how without insulting him. She tried to come up with  \nsomething. She took a breath and said, \"Jaspar...\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; To her dismay, he took that as an invitation. \"Essa,\" he replied, moving himself to sit  \nnext to her on the couch. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the pad of her palm.  \nShe sat motionless, caught between alarm and desire. She had never before needed  \nsomething she didn't want with such intensity.  \n  \nIt was her need that kept her silent as Jaspar reached around her neck and gently pulled  \nher to him. He gave her a kiss that felt full of his old confidence. When she felt his left  \nhand draw across her stomach and rise to her breasts, it seemed to break the spell. She  \npulled back from his kiss and shook her head. \"Jaspar, no!\" she gasped.  \n  \nThe raccoon leaned back as if he'd been slapped. Essa could still feel the conflict, her  \nneed fighting her ego. She desperately wanted to keep things from getting out of hand,  \nbut was no longer sure she could. Her body was crying out to be held, and her heart was  \npleading not to be broken again.  \n  \nJaspar looked confused. Then his expression turned to anger. \"If you came here just so  \nyou could tease me...\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; It was getting to be too much. She felt tears gather in her eyes. She didn't want to cry,  \nbut she was frightened of what could happen if she did what her body wanted. And she  \nnever considered tormenting Jaspar with false hopes.  \n  \n\"Jaspar, please,\" she said, her voice a weak rasp. \"You don't understand. You're going  \ntoo fast.\"  \n  \nThe raccoon's expression softened. \"I'm sorry. I thought...\" He sighed. \"It's been a  \nlong time. I just...\"  \n  \n\"I know.\" Essa sniffed. \"It's been a long time for me, too. But I don't know how I feel  \nabout it.\" She listened to her heart and to her body, trying to reconcile the two halves.  \nShe felt helplessly torn. \"I want-\" Stopping herself, she looked Jaspar in the eyes. It  \nscared her a little, telling him what she felt for him, how much she needed his touch right  \nnow.  \n  \nBut he was just looking at her, listening to her. He was paying attention, waiting for  \nher. That in itself was different. Essa wondered if being hurt by the feliform had perhaps  \ntempered his vanity. If it had, perhaps he might understand. She took a breath to calm  \nherself and continued, hoping she was doing the right thing.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She moved a little closer and said quietly, \"I want to, but I'm not sure, you know? I  \ndon't-\" She looked up into his eyes, trying to ease the sting of her words. \"I don't want  \nto make the same mistake I made last time.\"  \n  \nThey sat in silence for a few moments, unsure if they should get closer or further apart.  \nEssa thought back to how she'd felt the first time they'd been intimate, how beautiful it  \nhad been. Her breathing slowed as she let that feeling take hold and spread.  \n  \n\"It used to be special between us. Remember?\" She pulled his hand to her lips and  \nkissed his knuckle where there wasn't any clay. She smelled his scent mixed with the  \nearthy odor of his medium. \"You used to treat me like I was the only one in the world  \nfor you.\"  \n  \nJaspar did indeed remember. He leaned closer, until their whiskers were brushing  \nagainst each other. Tilting his head up, he nuzzled her ear. \"Essie,\" he whispered, his  \npet name for her, \"will you melt for me?\"  \n  \nEssa felt a tiny shiver dance along her ears. Jaspar knew how to please a rabbit like her.  \nHe ran the pads of his fingers along the backs of her ears, from their roots to their tips.  \nShe groaned softly, and he smiled at her reaction.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He was gentle. He was patient. He did everything he knew she loved. It was as if he  \nwanted to apologize for what had happened between them.  \n  \nSlowly, her doubts and fears began to subside. The memories of their time together  \nwere clear in her mind, and she could see a difference in Jaspar now. He was more  \nwilling to spend time pleasing her. He spoke to her quietly, telling her how much he  \nmissed her. When he moved his hand down to her thighs, she was glad. Truth be told,  \nshe was grateful.  \n  \nMonths of denial and of unwanted celibacy gave way to a quick melding of bodies.  \nThey could both tell they had reached the point of no return. Thoughts were burned  \naway; Essa could see the hot ashes of her fears dancing before her eyes.  \n  \nEssa wound up on her back, her short tail bunched up uncomfortably beneath her as  \nJaspar worked his way into her. She held onto his shoulders and threw her head over the  \nside of the couch, offering him encouragement he didn't need. He had fallen into his  \npace, the rhythm that would carry him through as many climaxes as Essa could stand.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Time evaporated between the many peaks Jaspar brought her. She eventually lay back  \npanting, sweaty and exhausted. Every nerve in her body was dancing with sparks and she  \nhad trouble moving when Jaspar finally lay down next to her.  \n  \nThey lay on the couch for a while, resting. Jaspar nuzzled her ear and cheek now and  \nagain, but she was numb to it. She heard his hoarse voice whisper a breathless, \"Thank  \nyou\" in her ear. In her state, she unthinkingly muttered, \"Love you, too.\"  \n  \nEssa was drifting into sleep when she felt Jaspar stiffen. \"Hold it,\" he said. He raised  \nhimself up slightly, looking down at her body with an intense expression. \"Can you hold  \nthis pose?\"  \n  \n\"Laying here like an old towel?\" She smiled. \"Yeah, I think I can manage it.\"  \n  \nThe raccoon gently disentangled himself from her and went back to his seat before the  \nworktable. He quickly wetted and reformed the clay. He worked feverishly, inspiration  \nhaving hit particularly hard. She watched him a while, feeling drowsy again.  \n  \n\"Don't let me sleep too long. I have to get Roem before six.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Jaspar grunted, \"Six, got it,\" without looking up.  \n  \n\"And Jaspar?\"  \n  \n\"Mm?\"  \n  \n\"Thank you.\"  \n  \n\"Mm.\"  \n  \nShe closed her eyes, knowing he was listening to the muse whispering in his ear.  \n  \n\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*  \nThis text is (c) 2002, Wirewolf  \nIt may be downloaded and printed only with copyright information intact.  \nIt may not be distributed without author's permission.  \nComments or other responses should be addressed to:  \n  \n[[email\u0026nbsp;protected]](/cdn-cgi/l/email-protection)  \n[[email\u0026nbsp;protected]](/cdn-cgi/l/email-protection)  \n[[email\u0026nbsp;protected]](/cdn-cgi/l/email-protection)  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n\n"}