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"Edge Walking"

By: Cauldron O Boyfur

Notes and Warnings: Although there is no yiff in this segment of "Edge Walking", the story does contain adult themes such as stripping, drugs, and prostitution. As stated before, the "Cha-Ching" Gentleman's Club and Cocktail Lounge is not based on any business establishment in real life, although the city of Phurrydelphia (setting of the series) is based on the real life city of Philadelphia PA, USA. Likely, Moocow is supposed to be Moscow (haha, right?).

The album Purple Rain is copyright 1984 on Warner Bros. Records. All songs on the album were written by "Prince", and though the mentioning of the album was done without his permission, I would assume that the open-minded artist wouldn't mind it's small inclusion. "The Electric Slide" is another song mentioned in the story. It was written by Bunny Wailer and preformed by Marcia Griffiths. There is also a mentioning of the comic character, "Garfield". He was created by Jim Davis, copyright 1978. The Home Shopping Network (HSN) is also mentioned without permission. To save my ass, it should be noted that all the products they sell are legal. They do not peddle crack cocaine.

Chapter 7: The Lowdown

Characters:

Jamie: 16 year old white bunny. Male.

Sheila: 21 year old calico cat. Female.

Carwyn: 22 year old orange fox. Male.

Nikodim: 55 year old grey wolf. Male.

Dewey: Jamie's teddy bear, given to him by Sheila.

Bags and bags spilt out from the edges of Sheila's pawtips in copious quality. Jamie (still with shower towel worn like a loin cloth) gazed, awestruck at what high caliber stock Nikodim placed on this amateur bunny boy who not only couldn't pole dance yet, but could barely manage to keep in stride and syncopation with "The Electric Slide". Hundreds of the grey wolf's green had been nonchalantly blown at the Roosevelt Mall, exchanged for contents in the numerous plastic bags. They jauntily jounced and jiggled in the calico's arms as she burst through the door, with a smile screaming MAKEOVER!

And so it was. With a vinyl copy of "Purple Rain" spinning on Carwyn's turntable, the door of Jamie's room swung open-close-open-close... each time revealing a new skimpy outfit which the bunny boy wriggled his powder-puffed-butt into. Carwyn and Sheila both cheered with adoration for some attire, and ardent sexual satisfaction for other getups. Like elastic testers, every bikini-brief, thong, or speedo that hugged Jamie's small anatomy was pulled on, snapped, and fondled by the two party-hearty coworkers. Jamie never shied away from their zealous hands, he just blushed so hard, that both sets of cheeks were vibrant red as tomato-skin.

The day was coming to an end. Jamie had settled on a fresh pair of fly-fronted briefs to don for duration of the night. They were actually "Big-Paws" brand which Sheila had picked up for him. Meant for toddler wolves, they were neon orange with blue leg openings, a red fly, and a white waistband. It was a typical fetish for wolves to dress bunnies in little boy briefs, which was why Sheila included them in the day's purchases. But nobody was paying Jamie to dress childlike that night. It was a subconscious need to shed the past few years, starting anew, as would a toddler. Sheila's hand-me-down, aqua-green Garfield nightshirt swam around him as the only other piece of clothing Jamie mounted the bed in. Of course Dewey was nestled in his arms, the copilot of dreams for the night. But before bed, or even bedtime prayers, the child-like Jamie needed to be given adult-grade information pertaining his very adult job debut the following afternoon.

Sheila let Carwyn handle the boy-on-boy rapport with the tenderfoot bunny. Clad only in tighty whities, the fox parked his taut rump on the edge of Jamie's bed. In nearly perfect syncopation, as an orange paw reached to fondle white bunny fur between flopped ears, Jamie was first to the touch. Letting go of Dewey's synthetic fur to lasso the white-briefed waistline of Carwyn. Twenty three seconds of silence. The two had yet to develop the bond of lovers (having only been aware of each other's existence for a day), but they were both homosexual, single, happy to touch, and happier to be touched.

To break the silence, Carwyn utilized the obvious, stating, "Big day for you tomorrow."

"Yup," said Jamie, too busy with exploratory paws to say more. White bunny paws kinesthetically conversing with white cotton. He didn't feel more needed to be said. Carwyn would've been on the level, but as an employee, he was required to clarify certain issues on behalf of his bar and boss.

"Listen, Jamie. Before you go to bed, we gotta talk money, and payment plans."

"Uh-huh." Touching fox undies prohibited him from being as interested in his financial blueprint as most others would be.

"You, ah, do realize that you'll be receiving very little actual money."

"What!?" Now the teenager's floppy ears were perked, as was his sense of concern.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist before I explain. You can take a regular salary from Nik, or have him handle your financial needs, plus living and luxury expenses. Unless you're an idiot, you'll take the latter option."

Jamie felt somewhat insulted. "Why? Cuz I"m a teenager. Cuz I"m a bunny, I don't know how to handle money? I need an adult wolf to do it for me?"

"Don't be dumb," Carwyn shot back. "If want a paycheck to paycheck life, Nik will be more than happy with your choice. It'll save him a lot of money. You might not realize how much money he's entitling you to, but I'll say this much; he's paying for you to live in this house, for your car rides and their ridiculous gas prices, for the water and electric bills, and for food. He'll pay for your clothing, and special stuff like trips to one of this city's dozens of museums. Now again, you can take upfront money, but you'd have to go looking for a new place, a new ride, and food." It was beginning to sink in for Jamie, as Carwyn kept on, "If you don't grab Nik's hospitality by the balls, you might as well beg for people to mug you, cuz you'll be robbing yourself of hundreds, probably even thousands..."

"OK, OK, OK," Jamie interjected while removing his hand from Carwyn's warm midsection. "I get the point." He went back to holding Dewey. "Is there anything else we need to talk about?"

"Yeah, a few things actually. One being what you came down to see me doing earlier."

Jamie looked up from his fetal curl, smiling, "Thank God you're not glossing that over. I'm glad you're the one bringing it up."

Carwyn sighed, "Yeah, well you caught me red handed. Literally. I'll admit to you right now, I use crack. And Sheila doesn't have a problem with me telling you that she's on opiates and sedatives. Morphine, heroin, oxycontin, tranquilizing stuff. I know it's not right to tell you this now that you're already living with us, but it's gonna be around the house. Is that gonna bother you?"

Jamie, long anxious to address the issue, was slow in his answer, "It might. Only because, I'm, er, you know, probably gonna want some. That is, some for myself." A few seconds of silence elapsed before Jamie clarified, "I'm kinda addicted to crack too. That's why I really need pocket money. It's one of the main reasons I walked into the place for a job."

"Talk to Nik," the seated fox cut in. "Anything you use, he's got a hookup for, and a good one at that. He's connected out his grey wazoo, mostly Russian mafia from the Far Northeast." Sections of Phurrydelphia's Northeast, such as Somerton, Fox Chase, and Torresdale were more saturated with KGB turned black market criminals than any other spot in North America. "Little Moocow" always needed specifying, as several pocket neighborhoods in the city took that title. From these quite affluent areas, a high percentage of drugs (especially MDMA) were dispersed and distributed though the tristate area. Unregistered guns were also bountiful in these sections, constantly being sold to inner city gang members, drug dealers, drug addicts, and crooks, who continued adding casualties onto Phurrydelphia's homicide list (longest of any city in the nation).

Jamie, like most other crackheads, knew the most potent rock was that which came straight from top Russian and Italian kingpins. Once sold to the streets, the further down the ghetto gang ladder one bought, the more cut and impure the product was. If Nikodim was affiliated directly with ex-Soviet outfits, chances were that he could cop hunks of white gold. Jamie decided to ask directly, "So would it be accurate to say that Nikodim gets good stuff?"

"Butter. Pure butter." Carwyn said the word with such stout conviction, it was like he was on a polygraph. And this was no lie, no joke, as Carwyn's canine lips went into a smile, his praise alone for the white rock making him high. "It's the creamiest hit, oh jeez, like watching olive oil move along the base."

"Butter?," Jamie asked knowingly, for sake of obtaining excitement from Carwyn's ongoing HSN-like sales pitch.

"One hit, and you won't feel your teeth. Two, and you won't feel your big feet. A few more, and boy, you'll be wrapping duct tape round your boney chest fur, cuz you'll think your bunny heart's trying to bunny hop n' hammer through your ribs."

Carwyn had verbally solidified the question of quality. That was only half of what encompassed the teen's curiosity.

"Well how much do we get?"

The fox delivered a foxy answer, "We get baby bear's porridge. Generous chunks. But knowing that all crack users are addicts, Nik makes it policy to give it out in intervals. But even still we get a lot more than we're probably due for. Nik can get it dirt cheap, even though it's the best you'll ever have, hands down. His Russian hookups deal directly with Columbian cartels, so there's literally just one middle man."

Carwyn's mentioning of cocaine's tumultuous homeland punctured Jamie's heart with shrapnel of reality. More than any personal negativity associated with his drug usage, it was the social chaos surrounding cocoa leaves which disheartened Jamie. Just to think of the evils adjacent to the drug gave him chills. Drug lords of South America employing terror tactics on isolated farming villages to force the harvesting of the plant and then the grueling labor of simple farm folk which went into cultivating the powder. Political unrest, and undoing. Family members of the opposed, kidnaped and held at gunpoint, until agreements were made to turn a blind eye to genocide. It was these factors which the benevolent, pacifist bunny felt most pained over when indulging in his addiction. He and his mother placed hundreds of hard, US dollars in the blood-stained paws of power-starved drug lords, who converted the cash into grenades and assault rifles, which assisted in turning a land of good souls into a country in fear's grip. Jamie hypocritically empowered the warlords of the world, despite pleas for world peace every night during prayer. He could claim addiction, but it felt more like selfishness as the reason his weak soul kept getting high. Though it numbed his oblong taste buds, Jamie knew that each hit of crack cocaine was spiked with the flavors of broken villages, the ash of burned homes and old crop, dried tears of those who lost a loved one, corruption, cash, gunpowder, greed, grief, the devil, and blood perpetually fountain flowing from hearts of the innocent and meek. And still, Jamie copped and smoked the white nightmare, too addicted, no, too selfish to drop the tooter despite his awareness of the lethal ramifications it had on good furs who wish no wrongs upon anyone. While Jamie knew that God had no love for him, when considering his relationship with crack, at least he couldn't wonder why he was condemned.

Needing to change the subject, and snag the answer to a gnawing question, Jamie asked, "Am I gonna be dancing tomorrow?"

"You, no, not for a few weeks." A surprise and relieving revelation. "You'll be on food and bar with Sheila. You're lucky that not only is she not bitching about your pairing with her, but that she's excited to be working with you. She really is fond of you, even though you'll probably be tipped much more than her. You know, cuz our clientele being gay and whatnot. Of course, if you wanna be a gentleman and do the right thing, you'll split your tips evenly at close."

"I gotcha. Don't worry. I think Sheila's as cool as you do."

"But yeah," Carwyn continued on, "Craig's gonna be there tomorrow as bouncer. You probably remember him, the big bear who was there last time." Jamie remembered alright. He remembered quaking nerves at first sight of the bruin, believing he'd toss Jamie's puff-butt out of the bar for being underage. Now, he'd play role as potential savior, security for Jamie from a mass of drunken, sexually charged animals, far more physically powerful than he.

"You'll also be meeting Stan. He's an otter, really outgoing and funny. And I also think Trixie is gonna be on tomorrow. I, ah, well, he and I don't quite make the best of friends."

"He?"

"Yeah, Trixie is a he. Drag queen. He can be an absolute drama queen, and he's very uptight and egocentric."

"Kinda guy who thinks he poops out rose petals, huh," Jamie said, indicating he knew the type. Carwyn's eyebrows raised slowly, as did a slinky smile.

"That was THE comment of the night. Genius. I'll have to remember that. Nik would probably find that funny. He thinks Trixie's a dick too."

Brains went askew at that comment, prodding Jamie into asking, "Why does Nikodim keep someone around who he doesn't like? Wouldn't he fire him, you know, being a wolf and in charge and able to do so and stuff."

"First off, it's Nik, not Nikodim. Secondly, just cuz he's a wolf doesn't mean that he thinks with his temper. Frankly, that's a very prejudice statement."

"You don't know my history with wolves," Jamie defended.

"Well I'm sorry about that, but you have to learn that all wolves aren't one individual, just like I'm unique from all other foxes, and Sheila isn't like any other feline. You know what I'm saying? Even though Sheila is my best friend, I don't care much for Trixie, and he's an orange tabby. And to answer your question on why he's still working at the "Ching", it's because he brings in more money than anyone else working there. He's famous on the drag circuit, heck, he's even won interstate-wide pageants. Nik is a very smart businessman, but even still, only dummy would fire their top earner over something as petty and trivial as a personality mismatch"

Jamie lay still, Dewey tucked limp in his scrawny scar-trimmed arms, downtrodden over his undeniable display of wolf-bashing. Life with his dictatorial step-father had seeded his psyche with a prejudice he would rather deny lay within. At this point, he just wanted to pray and sleep. So he shut his eyes, to send that message to his friend. Within seconds, the tender top of a fox paw was gently stroking the fur between Jamie's long ears.

"I'll let you get freshened for tomorrow, Jamie. I just gotta tell you two things about your physical, beautiful lil' body, now that you're gonna be a dancer at the "Ching". First off, you need to stretch daily before you start on the pole. Lotsa yoga. We can do it together. That is, long as you stand in front of me. Hmmmm? Give me a nice view of that puff ball up in the air every time ya bend over."

"Down dog," Jamie muttered through a smile, reciting the only yoga posture he know of. Carwyn whistled in approval. The smile quickly incinerated though, as Carwyn's muzzle was rerouted into a look of concern.

To say his last tidbit of information required Carwyn lowering his head so that whiskers nearly brushed against the long ears of Jamie. This needed to be, as it was the most soul to soul parcel of advice that needed to be aired out, in the name of friendship, caring, and sympathy. Said in a calm whisper, "Jamie, furs in our profession are prized for having nearly impeccable bodies. And you're probably the single most beautiful bunny boy I've ever placed eyes on. But please, for God's sake, for the "Ching's" sake, and above all else, for your sake, you can't keep cutting yourself. It's like watching someone deface of one of the masterpieces at the city's Art Museum. You are a masterpiece of God. Both your mind and body. Just treat yourself with love. Please. God knows you deserve no less." He completed the lowering of his head, placing a delicate, wet-nosed goodnight kiss on Jamie's forehead, which was quivering, his eyes laden with tears. Carwyn gently stood himself up from the bed and skulked out of the boy's room, closing the door to but a sliver behind him.

Jamie took a minute or so to sob, before removing his Star of David necklace and intertwining it in his paws. Tears fell even harder during bedtime prayer. Jamie, guilt ridden and depressed, opened himself wide, wanting, and willing to God. Jamie felt his prayers went neglected. He failed to realize his falling into the opened arms of God while sleeping; God who daintily cradled the bunny's tender, soft, and innocent soul in a nurturing bough of love.