Duke - Book 1: Alpha Rising (Chapter 3 of 8)
An erotic drama, with laughter and tears, his story will touch you, and have you touching yourself.
Two worlds collide as Duke has to tell his boyfriend Mike his secret, that not only can he change into a black German Shepherd, but also that the Irish Setter he brought home from his family vacation is actually his lover Rourke.
Rourke, a 'purist', his primitive people brutalized him for being gay. By becoming his 'Alpha', Duke rescued him, but to remain an 'Alpha' Duke has to lead a pack. The machinations of the 'purists' not only lead Duke to gather a pack, but also to take action that will have far-reaching ramifications.
For Duke to tell Mike his secret, they have to mate. Their love on the line, the real threat comes from within, as another competes for Duke's affection.
Animal experimentation, a knife-wielding homophobe, a local whore, and an ailing grandparent who has to pass along his gift of 'change' add to his troubles, but a hundred year old tortoise with a secret comes to his aide.
Love it or hate it, I'd appreciate your comments!
(Story begins here: )
(Chapter 1 )
(Chapter 2 http://www.sofurry.com/page/284244)
** DUKE**
Book 1: Alpha Rising
by scavola
_____
CHAPTER 3
Let me back up a bit before someone calls animal control. Contrary to his previous statement, Mike did not have sex with me changed. He clarified that he said that if I were a dog we would still be together, which didn't necessarily mean sex. Also, Mike is pretty much a top; he only bottoms on my birthday. I mention this because there wouldn't be fucking Mike changed, as there's no fucking Mike, period.
Rourke had a different deal. Rourke didn't care to, but did change more often as it meant Mike laying on him; Mike loved the longhairs. As Rourke could change, the choice was his, and he generally took or gave whatever he could. The situation worked out good for me, I got my knot off occasionally, for Mike, his 'I.O.U.' pile rapidly depleting, and for Rourke, because we all grew to love each other as whatever we did we always did together.
_____
We were happy, so you know it didn't last . . .
_____
Late in the semester, 'we' decided 'we' needed extra credit. 'We' wanted to be able to say when we opened our clinic that we graduated at the top of our class. On Saturdays, as animal science majors, we started volunteering at the campus shelter.
It was fifty degrees, a heat wave this time of year, mid-April. In jeans and t-shirts, we walked to the shelter, Mike clutching me for warmth as he got cold fast. We didn't drive because we were typically a mess after, and he didn't want to get his car dirty. Actually, we could have walked to class each day if 'we' could get up on time.
The students ran the shelter under the direction of the faculty, giving care to any pets brought in, including a lot of strays. Opening the metal doors of the old brick building, we were hit with a wave of warm stink, anal glands and bleach. I gagged a bit but Mike didn't, not having much of a sense of smell.
The shelter unstaffed on the weekend, a lone security guard slept at the front desk. We let ourselves in to the back room with our key cards. Other volunteers were already at it, the 'generals', we called them, general cleaners, the shelter itself, the 'pussies', a group of girls from a sorority to care for the cats and kittens, and the 'boys who love farm animals' from the fraternity. They called us 'the dog boys'.
We got the job of four done with two because we worked hard. Both the dogs and their cages had to be scrubbed. Mike scrubbed the cages because he fit in them, but didn't like to be locked in them, no sex for a week. I scrubbed the dogs, big enough to handle them and, for some reason, they liked me.
As Mike went back to open the doors, I grabbed the first dog and hurried him to the washroom. I told him to 'stay'; he snapped to attention, sitting up straight, and I hurried back to the empty cage before Mike.
"Dude, where's the dog?"
"I took him back already." I helped him get the cage outside. "Come get me when you're done." He nodded as he grabbed his hose.
My obedient little buddy hadn't moved an inch. I patted my leg as I squatted. He came to me, licking my face as I hugged him and stayed at my side as I filled the tub and stripped.
This was against the rules; I tried wearing the rubber apron provided but it was awkward and I still got wet. While outside the shelter had video surveillance, inside had none and the other volunteers stuck to their sections.
I gave my obedient little buddy a bath, scrubbing him up with suds, and then climbed in. Changing, we splashed around together. When Mike came to get me, he found two black German Shepherds in the tub.
"Dude, not fair," he said, patting both of us on the head. "Okay, this is a test; I should be able to tell which one is you." He furrowed his brow. "There might be two of you, but I bet only one of you is gay." He unbuttoned his jeans. "I'll just have to fuck both of you to find out." He reached down his pant leg, pulling out his soft eight inches.
My obedient little buddy bolted.
"Dude, I think I scared him." Mike tucked himself back in his pants. "You better go get him."
I huffed as I leapt out of the tub, resisting the urge to shake off. Mike's expression read 'do it and no sex for a week'. I got my obedient little buddy back, unchanged, and finished his bath.
Working hard but having fun, eventually, dogs and cages clean, I dried off and got dressed. Mike, at the door, talked to somebody. Fuck, someone caught me washing dogs naked I thought, but Mike shook his head.
"A monkey's got a dog but he's allergic."
'Monkeys' worked with animals in quarantine. The quarantine section, added to the old brick building, was sponsored in part by a company with a name as long as Mike's, well, let's just say it was a mouthful. Our cards didn't get us in so we had to knock. The 'monkey' let us in.
This section was brand-new and state of the art. All of the animals had brightly lit cubicles with gadgets hooked up, monitors, air filters, and holes for those rubber-hand thingies. I passed by a chimp in one, he sat in the center, grinning and spinning, like a monkey in a microwave.
"Did you know this was here?" I asked quietly.
Mike nodded. "They only infect them with diseases they can cure." Some of them injured, Mike noted my concern. "They take mostly injured animals."
So they got the care they needed, but at a price.
The 'monkey' took us to the back, to the one dark cubicle. "Here he is, should be fine, says he has cancer." I cringed to think what there could be that made having cancer fine.
The 'monkey' turned on the cubicle light. A mutt, an Irish Setter / Beagle mix, full grown, but with the beagle in him, looked like a big puppy. Adjusting to the light, the little guy squinted through his eye, the other stitched shut. Scared, backing himself in to a corner, he shook. The cubicle popped open with a hiss. I squatted, offering my hand and he came to me, but only so far on wobbly legs. To be gentle with him, I pulled him to me, sliding him across the ceramic-coated floor.
I picked him up and cradled him in my arms, whispering assurances to him. Mike stayed behind to clean the cubicle under the supervision of the 'monkey', giving him direction from afar, his face covered with a mask. I took the little guy to the washroom.
I set him on my shirt, not on the cold concrete. He stayed, but nervously so, whimpering. I filled the tub with warm water only, no soap until I checked his wounds. In the tub, I splashed him and rubbed him gently.
Besides his eye, he had some shave marks on his belly with little scabs and bruises, probably injection sites. Considering his condition and his treatment, I cried, tears in the water, but was glad he seemed to relax in my care.
Unchanged I had an affinity with dogs; I think that's the right word. Changed, I communicated with them, well, communicated as dogs do. Done with his bath, and having dried him, I dropped my jeans and changed.
On all fours, I sniffed him, nuzzled him, and licked his wounds. He struggled, as if he wanted to do the same but couldn't. I curled up around the little guy to keep him warm.
"Dude," Mike said, "I read his charts, he's really sick."
"No," said the little guy, now a man, "no sick, hurt!"
Flat on the ground, he flailed, struggling. Mike scrambled to his side as I unchanged, joining me in helping him up. He clung to me, shying away from Mike.
"It's okay, he's my mate." Mike gave me an odd grin.
"Duke help," he cried, burying his head in my chest.
"Dude," Mike said, "he knows you."
I'd never seen him before. "He heard us talking."
"Dude, I call you 'dude'." He was, as always, right. We met young, he had a slight speech impediment, and the name stuck.
I pulled the man's face to mine. "You know me?"
He nodded. "Duke fight, Duke Alpha."
"Dude, he's one of you, and a purist."
I didn't recognize him because they rarely unchanged.
"I'm calling Dad," I said.
"We're getting him out of here." Mike knew what I was thinking. "We can't take an animal out of here, but they can't stop us taking him." He scowled, adding, "won't stop us."
Mike went to the 'boys who love farm animals' and came back with clothes, a shirt and pants. I'm not sure what he said to get them out of their clothes, probably not much, didn't have to, they were frat boys. He even had a pair of flips-flops, pink, most likely from the 'pussies'.
We smuggled him out past the sleeping security guard. Outside, video surveillance would record three guys heading out, two curled up affectionately, as I dragged him along. Once we got far enough away, I scooped him up, carrying him the rest of the way home.
_____
When we got home, our suspicions were confirmed. Rourke leapt up with a combined 'fuck-dude!' He grabbed him from my arms, taking him to the couch. Together, you could see the family resemblance.
"Yip?" Rourke asked.
"Rourke?" Yip replied.
His features softer, he had a brown eye but the same fanged grin. Tan where Rourke was ruddy, he had a small amount of freckles across his shoulders. Long, wild hair more brown, he had a faint beard and patches of the stuff on his chest and stomach. Draped in Rourke's lap, the smaller man cradled in his arms, heads together, they cried, I think, tears of joy.
_____
When Dad arrived later with Dr. Holstein, Rourke had Yip tucked in bed, propped up on pillows, spoon-feeding him warm soup. The doctor went right to Yip, examining him, with Mike rattling off his condition as stated from the chart he'd read. Dad brought a case of beer, he always did, so we sat at the table and had one.
"Grandpa's on the way with a council member." He sighed. "The political ramifications of this . . ."
He, or rather Grandpa, was right. A purist outside the retreat, how did he get out, why did he get out? How did he wind up in a research lab, and what had they done to him? I was lucky to have found him, in the right place at the right time. If I didn't go to school to be a veterinarian, if I didn't need extra-credit, and if I hadn't 'come out' to Mike, that's a lot of 'ifs'.
Dr. Holstein and Mike joined us; Dad grabbed them beers. Mike had his brow furrowed, thinking again, but more of a scowl, he was angry. Dad and I looked to the doctor anxiously.
"From what I can see and from what Mike and Yip told me, I'd say he's fine," the doctor said, nodding, "but I can't tell what's going on inside."
"I'm going back to the shelter." Mike noted my concern. "I won't be going alone."
"I'm going too," the doctor said, "more of us could be there, and I need to find out what they did to Yip."
Mike grinned. "My dad's meeting us."
Mike's dad was a lawyer, private but well connected, powerful. If he were meeting them, he'd bring the police, at least a D.A., possibly a member of state government, or even the governor. Mike must have thought we had a case for animal cruelty, and had convinced him of it.
_____
Rourke wouldn't leave Yip's side, even though he was sound asleep. He curled up in bed with him, holding him, cradling him in his arms. Himself awake, as I shut the door, he had a fanged grin on his face. They knew each other, but I didn't know what their story was. Regardless, Yip was a purist, on the 'outside', had been abused, remind you of anybody?
Dad and I sat on the couch, drinking beer and watching sports, muted. Again, he told me he was proud of me, and Mike, for saving Yip, and Rourke, for taking care of him. He had his arm around me, which always felt good.
Grandpa arrived with a member of the council. She introduced herself as Dr. Renia Tericzeski, a psychologist. A middle-aged, stout, but, evident by her grip, strong woman in an olive suit with wispy blond hair, squinty eyes under wire-frame glasses, and a gap toothed grin, she was uniquely handsome.
"First let me say congratulations," she said, smiling, "I read the report on your mating." 'Coming out' was the first step in the process. "I hope that's going well?"
I nodded, a little nervous, not sure if we were being judged.
"Relax," she said, holding my arm, "I only asked out of concern for your happiness."
"Actually, I found out he's known all along." I blushed. "I guess I slipped up a couple of times."
"Well," she said, "more good news."
We offered her a seat at the table and I recounted what happened. She and Grandpa were concerned at first that Mike had taken such drastic action; I managed to assure them that if Mike thought storming the lab was the right thing to do, then it was. They agreed, but she emphasized that I keep her updated. Actually, she considered Mike's actions, his convictions, more good news.
Rourke joined us at the table, as she asked to speak with Yip alone. He, on his own, had decided to get dressed, but only running shorts. He greeted Dad and Grandpa with hugs and sat, grabbing the beer I'd been nursing and downing it.
"Yuck," he said, scowling, "tastes like . . . yuck!"
"It's beer," I said, "it makes you relaxed, happy."
"Rourke relaxed, happy," he said, throwing a big arm over my shoulders, "thanks to Duke." He pulled me tight, showering me with kisses.
"Okay, enough," I said, pushing him away, "I love you but . . ."
"No kissing, no jerk off, no fuck Dad." He burped, from the beer. "Excuse Rourke," he said.
"Dad I explained to him . . ."
"I understand son," he said.
"Duke, thank you," Rourke said, taking my hand, "Duke save Rourke, Duke save Yip."
"Rourke save me," I said.
He shook his head, saying, "no, that different." He thought through his words. "Duke not must save Rourke, not must save Yip, but did because Duke good."
"Well, Mike helped."
"Yes, Mike good, really good." He grinned.
"So, how are you and Yip related?" Dad asked.
He thought about it and, probably thinking of the twins, said, "Cousins."
"We made some inquiries on the way over," Grandpa said, "seems a purist went missing not long after the retreat. They have the same Alpha, but, obviously, Yip's half beagle, so the relation's far-removed." Rourke looked to Grandpa, brow furrowed. "Cousins," Grandpa said; Rourke nodded.
"How well did you know him?" Dad asked.
Rourke shook his head. "We no fuck."
"I mean," Dad said, chuckling, "were you friends?"
"Rourke have no friends." He sighed. "Yip sad. Rourke hurt, Yip no help. I say okay. Rourke hurt because gay, Yip hurt much worse."
"Because he'd be a traitor," Grandpa muttered, understanding the politics; Rourke nodded in agreement.
"How do they get away with this?" Dad asked, quietly, "the council should do something about it."
"It's political," Grandpa said, scoffing, "always is."
"By the way," I said, throwing my arm around Rourke, "Rourke has lots of friends now."
He grinned, and started kissing me again, until the councilwoman stepped from the bedroom. Mid-kiss, he ran to Yip's side. We looked to her expectantly.
"I can't comment on an ongoing investigation." She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. Grandpa nodded, understanding. "Got one of those for me?" she asked, joining us.
Grandpa handed her a beer.
*****
The last thing I remember was watching TV with Dad. I woke up the next morning under a blanket on the couch with Mike. He managed to get my clothes off without waking me up, a good sign, not that he stripped me in my sleep, but that he hadn't woken me up.
In the soft morning light, I watched him sleep. Awake, he was full of energy, intense if not tense, even aggressive. Like this, he was sweet, eyes closed, lips parted. With his fair features, golden hair, and boyish looks, he was an angel, my angel. My angel's elbow flailed, hitting me in the chest.
"Dude, stop staring," he mumbled.
I laid back down next to him, holding him in my arms; my cock comfortably nestled between his cheeks. This time he elbowed me in my gut.
"Make me coffee," he mumbled.
I got the pot started as he sleepily made his way to the table.
The bedroom door cracked open and out came Rourke, Yip still in his arms. No longer being experimented on or tortured, no longer scared, and, from a full night's rest, good food, and Rourke's tender-loving care, he was a new man. He had his color back, a soft golden brown. His hair had been brushed, flowing. The only reminder, the only visible scar, was his stitched-shut eye.
Yip came to Mike and me, giving thanks. Rourke pulled us all together. We lingered until, being morning, the embrace got, well, woody. We broke off, scrambling to our chairs, tucking in to the table, and Mike filled us in on his 'raid' yesterday.
As I suspected, his dad showed up with the cops and a D.A. They roused the sleeping security guard, showing him the warrant. He called the faculty director, who arrived with the dean. They were allowed access to the quarantine lab, but only a few of them, to limit exposure. Dr. Holstein started inspecting the animals with Mike's help.
Some highly contagious, Dr. Holstein asked the faculty director to pull their records, adding Yip's. This led to a heated discussion, verbal sparring with Mike's dad. Outmatched; they gave up the records. The faculty director turned helpful, assisting Dr. Holstein, but made the mistake of calling the dog we know as 'Yip' a rare specimen. Dr. Holstein called Yip a mutt, not rare. He back peddled, escorted outside by Dr. Holstein, and didn't return.
A representative from the sponsor company stormed in, barking orders, taking charge of the situation, until he saw Mike's dad. They had a pleasant conversation and Dr. Holstein made his report. He found two more animals he considered abused, both missing an eye. Dr. Holstein asked to speak with the representative, taking him outside; the representative did return.
Mike got pissed, went in to a tirade about animal rights and corporate ethics. He didn't let the dean off with an 'I wasn't aware', charging him with, at least, creating the culture in which this happened. He told the dean, and his father, that he wouldn't associate with a school where this was allowed even 'tacitly', and then explained to me what 'tacitly' meant.
"So we're dropping out?" I asked, shocked.
"Well, no, my dad asked me to give the school a second chance, and by not dropping, make sure things did change." He smiled. "They gave me a full-ride scholarship."
"You got a full-ride scholarship?" I asked, shocked.
"Well no, I don't need a full-ride scholarship." He smiled. "So I signed it over to Dustin."
I went nuts, yelling, jumping, and whooping like a mad man. Rourke understood that Mike did something good for Dustin, so he went nuts too. Yip understood that Mike stood up for animal rights, making a difference, so he joined in. We declared today 'National Mike Day'.
_____
Mike and I went on a run together, and then Rourke and Yip, borrowing Mike's shorts and shoes. They didn't run, but the fresh air was good for him. Rourke growled playfully when they got back and he saw that we didn't wait for them to take a shower; still, they were in the bathroom a long time.
I made Mike his favorite lunch; I ordered sushi. While Mike tossed back piece after piece, Rourke and Yip poked at the slices of tightly rolled seafood, rice, and veggies; as I said, we don't care for fish. They finally gave up and raided the pantry, mostly cans of beans and corn. As we ate, Rourke explained that, in the bathroom, he showed Yip 'toilet' and 'jerk off'.
After the run and stuffing our faces, in the warm mid-afternoon lull, Mike had another request. We all changed and crawled on the bed. With his head on my belly, straddling Rourke, and Yip curled up in their thighs, we took a nap.
_____
Later, as we all snuggled on the couch watching TV, a knock at the door startled us. We never, ever, get a knock at the door. Panicked, we bolted, scrambling to the bedroom for clothes, until, "Just me," Dr. Holstein announced.
I was naked, slow. Mike was dressed, fast. Rourke threw on his running shorts, but never having worn clothes before, Yip put the jeans tossed to him on his head. I let the doctor in and we were all bent over or rolling on the floor laughing.
"You guys are crazy," he said, chuckling, "but get dressed; I'm taking you out to dinner." He shook his head at the mess in the kitchen, the empty containers and cans. "You're getting a healthy meal tonight."
As college guys, we wore only a few different things, jeans or shorts and some shirts, mostly t-shirts. Rourke, bigger than us, wore the track pants and hoodie we'd brought from home. Yip was Mike's size, no problem.
In the bathroom, we all crammed in at the mirror. Mike and I combed our hair, Rourke and Yip brushed theirs, Yip pulling his hair over his stitched eye. Rourke decided he wanted a haircut, so Yip asked for a knife. We convinced them to go get haircuts Tuesday, when we didn't have class.
"You guys look fine," Dr. Holstein said. Reaching in to his jacket, he pulled out a black silk eye patch for Yip. Rourke brushed Yip's hair off his face, put it on him, and kissed it.
We lived off campus so quite a few places were within walking distance. We needed some place healthy, casual, and not too busy, for privacy, table manners optional. Mike suggested Thai.
Mike, as always, was right. Healthy, nice but casual, quiet and calming, never busy, there was no silverware. If we stayed away from rice and noodles, the purists could just spear their food with chopsticks.
Dr. Holstein asked for a table in the back, as, "these college guys sometimes don't behave," he said, eyeing us.
"I be good," Rourke replied.
I explained to him the real reason we needed privacy, emphasizing that we shouldn't 'talk' when people came by to bring us food.
"No 'thank you'?" he asked.
"Yes, 'thank you'," I replied.
"You're welcome," he said, grinning.
Mike and I sat together with Rourke on my side, Yip on his, Dr. Holstein across from us. They piled the large round table with steaming hot vegetables and chicken and duck. We all dug in as Dr. Holstein filled us in on the results of the 'raid' yesterday.
First, he had no problem saying, without a doubt, Yip's 'cancer' diagnosis was bogus so they could get his eyeball. They seemed to be collecting eyeballs for some reason. "Maybe for their stem cells," he speculated.
As far as Yip being at the shelter, the faculty director was offered a 'rare specimen' at a substantial price. He paid out, hoping for a breakthrough on his research project, which was going nowhere. The faculty director seemed to be the only connection to 'us' and he was being dealt with. The council opened an investigation. He couldn't comment on an ongoing investigation, but said it was 'ongoing' well.
"Think about it," Mike said, "the 'purists' have no contact with the outside world, no need for cash, and get away with a lot of sick shit."
The doctor nodded, my jaw dropped, considering the political ramifications, Rourke growled, and Yip had to be consoled, he thought he'd been taken, snatched, not sold.
The doctor was grateful for the help Mike's dad provided;' impressed with him as a lawyer and a human being,' he said chuckling. Mentioned favorably in the report to the council, he would most likely be contacted to be an 'outside' consultant, especially considering our relationship, Mike's and mine.
He was proud of us for taking swift action, rescuing Yip, and grateful to Mike for forcing change at the school. He was glad that Yip was not only okay, but also had a good group of friends to look after him. We all raised our glasses, toasting Yip.
_____
Back home, Dr. Holstein followed us in, stopping by his car first. He had a gift for Mike, a knotted natural wood cane like the council member, the older mastiff, supported himself with. He said this long piece of wood with a knot represented a canine penis, a rather large and substantial one, acknowledging the bearer as substantially male, strong and brave. He said only a councilmember could bestow such an honor, and she did so after reading his report.
"She has these lying around?" Mike asked, handling the long, hard stick.
"Actually, this one was given to me."
"I can't," Mike said, returning it.
He dismissed the notion with a wave. "She also said she'd be honored to officiate your mating."
"Mating?" Mike asked, turning to me with an odd grin.
The words 'mate' and 'mating' had been popping up lately, each time he gave me an odd grin. I could explain it to him, but I wanted him to, well, feel it, feel my love for him. Looking to Rourke, he nodded, Yip at his side. There'd be no more perfect moment.
"About that, I have to ask you something." I got down on one knee, taking his hands in mine. "Will you marry me?" My heart didn't get a chance to skip a beat.
"Dude, yes," he said, pulling me close for a kiss, to resounding congratulations.
_____
Rourke told Yip they had to sleep on the couch because we had the night before. He busied himself, pulling out blankets and pillows, and tidying up. When he shooed us off to bed, we realized someone had been watching too much daytime TV, specifically soap operas.
He had lit every candle in the house, all five of them, and scattered flower petals on the bed, tulips, we had a few in the back yard, or used to. Two bottles of beer on the bed; he wanted us relaxed, happy. He grinned, his fanged grin, as he shut the door.
The first time we'd been alone in our bed, since, I don't know when, it seemed so long ago because it seemed so right. Before, we couldn't imagine our lives more than the two of us. Now, we couldn't imagine our lives without at least Rourke, if not Yip. We sat up against the pillows, twisted the caps off our beers, toasted, and struggled to remember, well, being alone, but what we forgot, our bodies remembered.
_____
After sex, he climbed off, curling in to me, and I held him as I used to. I kissed his neck, over and over again; he laughed, it tickled. After an elbow to the ribs, when I still didn't stop, he knew something was up, and not just me.
"Dude, what?" he asked, turning over to face me.
"We need to talk about the mating."
"Not going to happen." Mike, as always, was a few steps ahead.
"You have to submit to me, I'm an Alpha."
"What if I shove my walking stick up your ass, would that count?"
"It's the rules," I pleaded, "and I'll have to do it changed."
"You're not sticking 'that' thing up my ass." He held 'this' thing.
"I can control the change, it'll be much smaller." I grew in his hands, but just barely.
He stroked the knot, smaller but not less sensitive. "Fine, but you better plan all this for your birthday." He turned back over. "I'm going to bed."
"What about this?" Throbbing, I had to release.
"Not my problem," he said, but after I whimpered, offered his thighs.
_____
Tuesday, Rourke sat in front of the TV scanning frantically for 'his show'. He wanted to get his hair cut like 'Jake's', whoever that was. He got upset, having not yet mastered all one hundred and sixty-two channels. Mike asked him to describe the show, and introduced him to the wonders of the internet, or 'TV that doesn't move' as Rourke called it. We found his soap, we found 'Jake', and we printed a picture to take with us.
Yip wanted his hair like Mike's. He copied Mike to the point Rourke sometimes called him 'my Mike'. Also, they were both tops, as Yip wasn't gay.
I could teach a class on canine sexuality but you need only know three things. First, dogs are dogs; we'll hump anything and everything, from people to sofa cushions. Second, he wasn't guaranteed straight sex; it was up to the bitches. A bitch had to open up to you, literally and in his small 'purist' community, they held out, and only put out, for only the most 'dominate'. Third, in a pack, there's a pack mentality and, well, look at his pack.
Back to the haircut, or Rourke's haircut, as Yip's was decided. The stylist ran her fingers through it, playing with it, and refused to cut Rourke's hair. She explained how Rourke had a horizontal face and needed the hair on the sides for balance. Trimmed and layered about his shoulders, she also showed him how to make it in to a ponytail. Supermodel Rourke ate it up.
He was quite good-looking, and, beauty only being skin deep, his personality, kind, caring, and fun loving, was infectious. It also helped that he still hadn't taken to clothes, not that we wore clothes a lot, except when we had company. Even then, he'd strut around in his running shorts, which barely covered his ass.
"Does he have a brother?" Poppy asked, one of our classmates. A mousey girl with a long ponytail and thick glasses, she couldn't keep her eyes off him.
"I was going to ask the same thing," said Bobby, a cute but chubby guy, "only, um, if he had a sister."
I grinned at Mike; we had a bet going on Bobby's yet determined sexuality.
Rourke grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator and sauntered outside, one for himself and one for Yip. The other four of us sat in a circle on the living room floor, books and notes spread everywhere.
"Question," Mike said, leading the study group, "what are the necessary conditions for disease transmission?"
We all referenced our books or notes and wrote down our answer. Poppy had hers down first, from memory. Bobby knew right where to look in the text. I, of course, was last, riffling through my notes, but at least I wasn't wrong.
"Question," Mike said again, "what are two signs that an animal has an infection?"
Saved by the bell, there was a knock at the door, which I was expecting. I scrambled up and greeted a taller guy, solid with muscle, but with the less attractive Eastern-European features, a uni-brow, a flat nose, and a weak chin. He was dressed sharp though, in jeans and a bright white shirt, both appearing freshly cleaned and pressed, which made sense, as his parents owned a laundry.
"Guys, this is my friend Andrei." I made the introductions.
From behind his back, he produced a jug. "I brought vodka."
"Good, I could use a break," said Poppy, "got any juice to go with that?"
They organized their study materials as I poured the drinks, vodka with orange juice. Andrei stepped outside to introduce himself to Rourke and Yip, but said they wouldn't be joining us. They didn't care for alcohol, couldn't understand why we drank fruit, not ate it, and Yip, still self-conscious about his eye patch, was uncomfortable around others.
Mike and I cuddled up on the floor, leaving the couch for our guests. Bobby and Poppy sat to either side, and Andrei plopped down in the middle, handing each a drink. Poppy tentatively sipped.
"This is smooth," she said.
"My grandpa makes it himself back in Russia," Andrei said, slamming his drink, "potatoes, has to be made from potatoes."
"You're family's from Russia?" Poppy asked, taking off her glasses.
As Andrei started in about his family, Bobby quietly sipped, a little uncomfortable now that Andrei turned towards Poppy, as he shifted closer to Bobby, in his space. Again, I grinned at Mike. I bet Bobby was gay, in the closet, and that's what someone like that would do. Mike shook his head. He thought Bobby wasn't gay, just an awkward geek.
After a little chat, Mike made us get back to work, but turned it in to a drinking game. Why is improved reproductive performance profitable for the animal science industry? A correct answer got you a drink. Name the main difference between male poultry and male livestock. A correct answer got you a drink. You get the point.
Poppy kept her glasses off, even though she had to bring her text closer to read. She laughed each time Andrei, not knowing Animal Science, made up answers. She even undid her ponytail, fluffing her hair. Finally, she got up, a little woozy, stretching, revealing her modest breasts as her shirt snagged over them.
"I think I'm done," she said, yawning.
"Me too," said Bobby, having just finished his first drink.
Andrei looked to me. "I'm not sure I can drive home." Which had to be a lie, he drank vodka like water. Either he wanted some paw or . . . he winked at me, smiling at Poppy.
"We've got a full house," I said, a little slurred, "but you're welcome to crash on the floor.
"No, no, no," Poppy said, waving her hand, "I'm just down the road and I've got plenty of room."
"Are you sure?" Mike asked slowly, trying to appear sober.
"Yeah, it's fine," she said, grabbing Andrei's arm, "besides, my roommate's gone." We knew what she was saying, but we weren't sure she knew.
"Are you sure?" Mike asked again.
"He shouldn't have to sleep on the floor; he'd be much more comfortable at my house on a bed." I'm sure he would.
"Okay," I said, jabbing my finger at Andrei, "but don't do anything I wouldn't do."
He got the joke, smiling.
We showed them out. Bobby would normally linger, chatting all night, but we had 'guests'. As he left, he shook both our hands, loosely. Again, I grinned at Mike.
"I wonder how that's going to turn out," Mike said, meaning Andrei and Poppy.
"Andrei's a good guy; he needs someone in his life." I took Mike's arm for balance. "I can only wish they be as happy as we." I kissed him quickly, almost missing his cheek.
The backdoor opened and the guys came in. They appeared to be wobbling, but that was just me. I took a deep breath, focusing.
"I am sorry I was not friendly," Yip said, head lowered.
"It's okay, I understand." Fumbling, I lifted his chin. "You're a good-looking guy, the eye patch just adds mystery."
"Yeah," Mike said, "sexy."
"What about Rourke?" Rourke asked.
"You know you're sexy," I said, getting a fanged grin. I stumbled back to Mike. "Mike and I are pretty drunk, if you want to take advantage of us, we'll be in the bedroom."
I took Mike arm in arm and we made our way to the bedroom, Rourke and Yip following.
_____
So that was it, we all got along. We slept together, woke, and showered together. Mike and I went to school and Rourke and Yip watched TV, to learn English, and they kept the place clean, which was nice of them. After school we'd run, after buying Yip his first pair of running shoes, just like Mike's. We'd shower again and did homework with Rourke and Yip at the table practicing reading and writing. After, we piled in bed and had wild and crazy man-beast sex until we passed out.
And we lived happily ever after . . .
TO BE CONTINUED
(Chapter 4 http://www.sofurry.com/page/285161)