[Live Fast and Die Hardily] The Last Show of a Hard Rocker
"How are you feeling?"
"I feel a lot better now. Thanks."
"At this point in time, we still are not sure of the exact details of your condition." A zebra dressed in a medical white coat, the doctor, stood before a bunny dressed in a blue medical gown, the patient. The bunny sat within a small clinical room, sitting up on a medical cot. The walls of the room were decorated with digital screens that cycled through the anatomies of various animals, a technologic improvement from the single animal image posters of former times. From an unseen corner, a small vent cycled cool air into the room with a fwip fwip fwip sound that played innocently in the background. As the bunny twiddled his paw fingers multi-coloured eyes looked up eagerly at the doctor behind a pair of aviator shades. The lenses of which were pink and transparent.
"I regret to inform you of this--"The doctor's voice came with cool and calmed enunciation and in this any attempt at sympathy become barely passable as the Doctor's pure and professional composure solidified him robotically, "--but we have found that what you suffer from is a widespread re occurring systemic artery falter. The cause of which seems currently unknown, we can only theorize at this point. In short, after your lapse last night your heart seems to be in a state of depressed weakness. Explain to me again, after the accident what exactly were you doing?"
With a sly grin, the bunny responded pulling down his shades to stare at the doctor directly, "It is not really a question of what I was doing, Doc, it who I was doing, and what I was doing with them. I was at a bender, Doc, cocaine, alcohol, sex, and I'm pretty sure at one point there was a highly inebriated nude drag race with bicycles down the 405. One moment I was up on a table, the next moment I was here." The bunny shrugs, passing off the event as his own warped version of the "every day." The eyes that look at doctor are both confused and innocent eyes. One blue, the other green, the heavy globs of eyeliner applied the night before now messily crept down the sides of his cheek fur. The pouting lips that spoke of his hard felt sorrow became exclaimed behind a gratuitous application of a blue and excessively voluptuous lipstick. Dressed in his long ochre hair were carved wooden beads, ritualized feathers, and other artefacts that would have spoken of a higher felt spirituality if he had not just worn such objects for their aesthetic appeal. Confessing his own realization, the bunny spoke, "It's the drugs that did this to me isn't it?"
"I feel like that could be a healthy assumption but not entirely correct." The doctor's sternness unwavering, "You've had five cardiac related visits in the past 6 months, and although it could be related to your lifestyle, tests are generally pointing towards the possibility of cancerous growth within your heart."
"Well that sucks." The bunny apathetically stated, seemingly distracted by a bead in his hair, "So can I go now?"
"Ideally I would like you to stay for a couple of more nights." For a second the doctor's stone face breaks as he lets out a exasperated sigh, "But after talking with your producer, and seeing that you often refuse to stay for any extended period of time in the hospital, I guess I have little say if you can go or not. But I must warn you, and you must realise this, if you leave this hospital and refuse your treatment, your chance of fatality will be significantly raised. I am not going to sugar-coat it, you are dying and you need help."
"Live fast and die hardily." The bunny tries to find a smile but it quickly limps into a frown, "That has been the way of Orpheus Hardfoot ever since the day he was born."
Live Fast and Die Hardily, The Last Show of a Hard Rocker
_"WARNING: Somewhere between sex and death things in this story might get a bit strange." -BeaverReturn _
Caught somewhere in a time between the punk rockers and the electronic punks, Orpheus Hardfoot and the Babes of Legend, had quickly grown into becoming the electro-rock group of the decade. Forever popular on and off stage, Orpheus Hardfoot and his band had successfully proven themselves over many publicized events as the reincarnated souls of hard rock's drug-fuelled past. What started as a love for music became a love for controversy, image, and outright scandal as the group went from garage band teenagers into famed legends of music. Sounding like a collision from the best of Punk and Electronic, in their appearance they came to represent the worst from glamour's past. Platform shoes, men in make-up, and ridiculous costume and hair made them not only instantly recognizable with their other worldly and often questionable image but also revered in GLBT communities in establishing themselves within the culture's historically relevant and nostalgic past.
Orpheus Hardfoot was the leader of the group. In the past, as a young kit growing up in a country lifestyle, he was often labelled as a strange boy and a complete social outcast. When he came into his adult years, his social ineptness would improve but only in unleashing a much wilder and destructive personality from the cage the use to exist within the boy. Some people could believe that the shy little boy still exists behind the rabbit's pink-lens ray-ban shades, but if he ever took his shades off most people would know he snorted and drank that child out of his body a long time ago.
Fame had made him believe he was immortal,
and then the doctor told him he was going to die,
But the show still had to go on.
Orpheus sat in his changing room, a hidden chamber located somewhere deep within the basement of the concert stadium where he was to perform that night. Its white brick walls medically severed the chamber's umbilical cord as it became birthed away from reality, turning itself into its own secluded universe. A bubble world that rose up through time's ocean, and now like Olympus itself seemed to float high above the mortal realm. It was here the Orpheus statuesquely sat himself upon a simple office chair, as he starred at the full clothing rack before him completely in the nude.
As he starred at the possible costumes that lay before him, words entered his mind but he did not listen to what they had to say. Instead he focused on muting them out. He focused on running a colander through his mind's stew. He focused on shutting himself down.
After a while a paw rises up to his chest and he begins to feel his heartbeat. He could feel the weakness in his heart's spirit, its pulsating rhythm like a stick beating the skin of a drumhead that had long ago lost its tautness. He rubs his paw over the puff of fur that grew out from the middle of his chest. The white cloud burst in a fluff pile outwards from his white fur--like a marsh-mellow melted in a cup of white hot chocolate. Paw fingers gently teasing the fur there, the hardness of his heart beat opposed the softness of the puff. On his exterior, he was still beautiful, still a delicate rose, but within him, he could feel the thorns starting to prick. As his other paw dropped onto his crotch, it was then that Orpheus found that somehow he had gotten aroused.
Where his heart pumped weakly, when he ran his paw over his growing excitement, the veins within his genital throbbed in strength. The mechanics of his own cock denying the weakness of his heart; it had become separate in a seemingly divided sentiency. After a few more teasing strokes it had become fully hard, and in a time where the rest of Orpheus's body was dying, it was only his cock that showed a certain verisimilitude within his mind.
His paw began to quickly rise and fall from his extended member as he grew to share his cock's excitement. His one paw no longer concerned about the fluff of fur on his chest, but now joining his right-sided brother within the genital's sanctuary. One groping paw, massaging his furred testicles, while a stroking paw, rubbed his long and readily stiff pink shaft. Now with mouth gaped open he let the pleasure take him over as the clothes on the rack before him lost meaning and instead became a myriad of brightly coloured and aesthetically pleasing displays.
The strokes speeding up, he had almost become fully lost in his self-indulgence but stopped immediately when his change room door suddenly opened. Reacting to the sound of the door, he wheeled his office chair around to face the door. Legs spread wide open, arousal fully on display, his mind was absent for but a few seconds as his orgiastic distortion faded and his changing room descended from its heaven to seemingly land back onto the surface of earth.
Standing in the door was the band's bassist, Dave Mohl who became mollified and wide-mouthed in seeing his nude boss. A Shrew in species with brown fur, his trademark look was his head fur's bowl cut. Even now, as he dressed in a purple muscle shirt made out of coloured chainmail, a lime-green long coat, denim booty shorts and a "noir-esque" black fedora he still insisted on having his neatly organized and cleanly trimmed bowl cut. His tiny black eyes as wide as they could be he stuttered trying to take his eyes away from the band leader's exposed self,
"I cannot believe you are wanking off right now! We've got to be on stage and you aren't even made up yet. Hell you aren't even dressed!"
The bunny gave the shrew a devil's look as he twitched his cock, making it bob up and down invitingly. In Orpheus's mind he was enjoying the awkwardness felt by the Shrew. However the shrew, not taking enjoyment in the scenario, quickly shielded his eyes away from the bunny's flirtatious intent and continued to speak,
"That's not funny, boss! Cut that shit out and start getting ready. The rest of the band is waiting for you back stage!"
"I was just having some trouble deciding what to wear." The bunny stood up from his chair, paw now slowly stroking his erection once more, "You want to help me pick something out?"
The shrew in practise of ill-fortitude dropped his eye shielding paw and let himself look onto his aroused partner. The rabbit's emaciated but athletic body guided the shrew's gaze as it moved past Orpheus's hardened nipples, away from his showing ribs, down into the valley of his fur covered rolling abs, over his navel, and then finally resting at the pink length outstretched before the rabbit. For a while he thought that perhaps there was time to fool around with his near skeletal boss but shaking his head he erased the thought,
"Just hurry up and get ready." He commanded, the words only forming as the shrew forced himself to turn away from the nude male before him.
"Dave. Before you go I need you to do me a favour." The bunny's tone turned serious, "Call up the Bull-Dogs. I'm calling in the favour they owe me and I want them snuck into the show."
"Gang security Orphie?"
"Tonight we are going wild." The bunny opened his eyes wild as a wicked smile stretched across his face, "I will see you up at stage in an hour."
In exactly one hour and ten minutes later the bunny left his change-room to meet his band backstage. For dress he had decided to only wear a pair of red leather pants. The attire itself was tight fitting and formed over his legs like a second skin. Behind the bunny, its bright coloured leather formed over his firm derrière while the front bulged out in an impressive mound that left little to mystery. Colourful eye shadow, dark purple lipstick, and thick fake eyelashes, helped the rabbit find his glamorous appearance, while a painted ouroboros symbol over his heart encouraged a sense of strange. For the concert he would keep his ears down, held in place by a golden laurel that crowned his head.
Waiting for him in the wings of the stage, Dave and the rest of his band waited for him. The other members of the band included, a drummer, Mick Treewood, who was a beaver, a keyboardist, Brandon Flowhares, another rabbit, and an electronic jockey by the name of Draft Punk, a draft horse and by no comparison, the largest member of the band. Joined together they dressed in a near similar but individually modified fashion to the shrew.
Brandon Flowhares, a black furred rabbit wearing a purple bandana to hold his ears down held Orpheus' guitar in his paw. The gold and sparkling instrument had become the physical manifestation of Orpheus's pride. Its slick finish was marked with black cursive writing that labelled the instrument as, "The Lyre" and in that title it had been mythically bound to Orpheus. To what the sword had been to the samurai, Orpheus's guitar was to him and even within the brief second that Brandon held the guitar before passing it to the other rabbit did Orpheus feel an inert rage build inside of him. Snatching the guitar away he slung the instrument behind his back. Giving the black rabbit a brief sneer he turned his attention to Dave,
"Dave. Did you call?"
"They are waiting for you in the crowd. What exactly are you planning?"
"I plan to go wild tonight."
A wily wink flicked in the rabbit's eye and the shrew's face scrunched inward as he contemplated his own confusion. Orpheus let out a laugh, patting his comrade on the shoulder before being the first to leave the stage's wing.
When the crowd saw Orpheus emerge onto the stage their explosive roars collectively flooded the stadium with a vocal energy that shot into Orpheus like a most vicious electric wave. His heart pumping speedily, natural chemicals energized the body into a heightened sense of being. Already, the excitement cruelly tortured his sick heart, but in the aura now glowing off his body he had suddenly become protected by the pain. A wide smile on his face, in the front of the stage Orpheus stood up to the central microphone. Moving his guitar from back to chest, he held the instrument in front of him within his paws, and when at first it seemed like the crowd could not cheer any louder, the crowd's cheers continued to grow more explosive.
When Orpheus was in place the other members of the band entered the stage and they too were welcomed by cheering fans. In the very back of the stage Draft Punk, wearing a robot helmet with 45-Z-16 written on the side, stepped up onto a grid like pyramid structure made out steel pipes and neon lights. Below the front of Draft Punk's structure, Mick Treewood sat himself at the drums, a square and digitized lights display was held within a steel frame behind him. On the side of the stage, Brandon Flowhares positioned himself in front of a standing keyboard while Dave Mohl stood at central stage next to Orpheus. When all the band members were in place, they immediately begun their first song, "A Man's Calendar."
The song was built organically, like the synthesthetic image of a time-lapsed plant growing from seed to stem to flower. As Draft-Punk introduced the song with some digitized notes, Mick Treewood began to add a beat to the sound, Brandon Flowhares waited for his cue, Dave Mohl dramatically kept his head down away from the audience, and then Orpheus played the first note of his guitar just as his mind started to wander.
As his body wandered into a new world he could only feel his paws as he clenched his fist around strange spherical objects that juicily squished when he closed his paw on it. Letting go of the organic object, he explored the bowl like container that his paws had suddenly become within. Soon he realized that within this bowl his paw had been submerged in some type of viscous juice. As he searched the bowl he found another spherical object and squished it as well. Suddenly he was a young kit again, cooking with his mom in the kitchen as his young paws squished tomatoes within a clay bowl.
On one side of the kitchen the young bunny squished tomatoes as his mother on the other side stirred a pot of stewing vegetables over the stove. As he played with the spongy vegetables inside the bowl, the world around him began to take shape as old-fashioned furnishings and decor appeared within his memory of the rustic and simple household. The table that Orpheus worked at was a simple carved wooden construction that sat on top of a stone floor. Two paintings sat binary to each other on the wall beside the table, their canvases blank as Orpheus could not recall what their image exactly was. On his mother side of the kitchen, wooden cupboards, an extended kitchen counter, a kitchen sink, and an old-style fridge filled the small working space that his mother had masterfully learned to navigate.
The memory complete, a nostalgic feeling now dripped like candle wax over his mind. The candle-like nostalgia's melted liquid dripped and then solidified like a shell on his mind and suddenly he became lost in the memories' reality. His young self did not have much self-esteem but when he helped his mother in the kitchen he could always have within himself a temporary feeling of importance. On top of that, squishing tomatoes had always been a favoured activity of his. Its gooey feeling both wonderful and disgusting, it would be hard for any little boy not find fun in its muck.
"Mother, I have to go to the washroom." A pre-pubescent voice from behind Orpheus's view calls out to his mother. Leaving the table, he made his way down the hallway of the moderately sized farm house and stepped into the bathroom. In his excitement he did not have the forethought to clean the liquid tomato that had covered his paws and when he unclipped his overalls and sat naked on the toilet he left little red paw prints on his clothes and the rim of the toilet. As he expelled his tiny bladder, even at his age the young kit preferred to sit when he peed.
Relieving himself quite quickly, the tiny rabbit was about to race back to his mother when off the corner of his eye he noticed something new sitting on the magazine rack to the side of the toilet. Arranged amongst Home Today, Garden Weekly, and Furbulous Magazine was his dad's calendar that he had made at work.
Grabbing the calendar with messy paws, tomato stained fur began to flip through the months. He knew of this calendar, he had heard his mother talk about it. His dad worked as a firefighter and the calendar he held in his paws was made as a fundraiser. Curiously browsing the calendar, Orpheus's young eyes involuntarily widened as he gazed at the depictions of hunky men that became the representative of each month. With month, his dad's co-workers's personal profile was accompanied by photographs of the furs. Each separate photograph of the firefighters depicted an accentuated masculinity and then with that also came a heightened sense of sexuality. As the little rabbit began to consider the photos more slowly, his exploratory eyes gave subconscious life to a paw that began to discover the hardening pink tool growing from within his crotch.
One month it was a shirtless black furred bovine holding a large hose with flexing biceps, another month it was a canine presenting his well formed rump behind firefighting pants towards the camera, and then another month would have his father playfully playing with suspender straps as he gave a seducing look to the viewer. His knees kneeling deep within a muddy patch, one arm up behind his head the other pinching a suspender strap, within his dark green eyes alone he could shoot cupid's arrow.
One paw held the calendar, another stroked his cock, as young eyes began to look onto his father with a near insatiable lust. His father as a firefighter had always been a strong man, but he had never realized how undeniably handsome his father was until he saw him in this photo. His flexing arm muscles swelled off his body like hardened stone, his near perfect abs tightly formed pristinely like in ancient works of sculpture, and on his face, again he would give notice to the pair of crystal emeralds that majestically haunted his adolescent body with a needing covetousness. As the bunny danced closer to his edge, it was not the father's impressive physique the drove the boy towards his building personal satisfaction but it was in those well-aged eyes. Strong eyes, confident eyes and sexual eyes saw into the boy, and at that moment when he gazed upon his father did he see himself reflected in the image.
The young kit continued to pump his raging erection as his obsessive gaze at his father's picture kept his mind entrapped. The orgasm quickly built within him as the juices from the tomatoes lathered his hard cock in red liquid. Caught completely in his own self-satisfaction, he was left without a care as the dark red juice stained his crotch fur.
Suddenly heavy breathing and a slight moan forced a shot of white stream out of his cock and onto the picture of his dad. Then, as a white wash of glory filled his individual, the feeling quickly vanished as he looked over to see his mom standing in the doorway of the bathroom. Her disapproving gaze heightened by the blood-like tomato colouring that had stained some of her face fur as she cooked. Turning his gaze off of his mother, the sound of flapping wings suddenly took his attention away. Sitting on the windowsill of the bathroom, a black crow had landed.
With beak open it screeched, "CAW! Incest is forbidden. Only you could unearth pleasure in something so familiar."
The song was brought to its climatic end and the crowd once again erupted into a cheer. The furs within the stadium floor in front of the band suddenly stopped their dancing and turned to face the stage once more as though they had just escaped from a musical-induced trance. Breaking from a trance himself, Orpheus snatched the microphone in front of him and called out to the audience,
"You are a bunch of fuckers!" The crowd's energy continued to grow vocally, "And I love you for it! We are Orpheus and The Babes of Legend!"Draft Punk mixes a brief musical interlude giving Orpheus pause before he speaks again, "We are going to go WILD tonight. Fucking wild. Wilder then anything fucking wild concert ever before. Fuck. Don't hold back, tonight."
Orpheus looks down to see the people before him. Scanning across the front line of the stadium's floor his eyes spy one particular fox dressed in a pink "yiff me" tank top. The skinny, young-adult, was cheering past the point of sanity as the glow-sticks bounced off of his spastically shifting body. When he said the next words he made sure the fox was looking directly into his eyes,
"There are two things that seem to be constant in life-in my life. They are Sex and Death. Stick around long enough and you'll learn what I mean."
The next song was, "Milkman Killer." The song was built mechanically, developing musically like a chain of gears appearing in sequence to each other within an oblivion void. Orpheus nods to the Shrew and the Shrew starts to strum a few notes on his bass. Brandon Flowhares follows the notes with a few strikes on his keyboard. Hearing his cue, Mick Treewood begins to tap the symbols of his drums and then Draft Punk sends out an electronic vibration that resonates in the song's background. Just as Orpheus begins his vocals his mind wanders once again.
As he wanders into this new world he only hears a whooshing sound of cars driving down a wet and damp road. Then there is the sound of a light rain trickling on a glass plane in front of him. A ceiling fan whirls above his head, clicking at the sound of each completed rotation. Raising his hands forwards he feels the glass window in-front of him and suddenly he is in his old apartment at age 19, looking down at a wet and damp street below him.
The memory around him develops and as he takes his eye away from the window, he witnesses as his room begins to appear out of a hazy and blurred image. First he sees his single bed cot, white cushion and grey wool blanket to keep him warm. On the walls posters of David Sowie, a transgendered female to male pig pop star, Fred Deer Murcury, a gay rock artist, and Whale! a short-lived homosexual rock group from the 80's came into vision. He then notices his small nightstand where a couple of dirty dishes sat stacked like a diorama of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. And then finally, his closet, the home of his first guitar, floated out from liquid walls.
He had lived in this dilapidated apartment ever since he was kicked out of his house at a young age. The apartment was in a less then safe location, with less then safe living conditions, and came with its fair share of less than safe neighbours, but being young and independent for so long he could not afford to live anywhere else.
As he looked back out of the window towards the scene he saw below, in realizing what he was remembering a haunting feeling overcame him as though an ice-cube was being run over his mind. Gazing at the street-lamp below that precariously twinkled a dim and dying light onto the dirty boulevard foreshadowing phantom figures lapsed ahead in time as part of his mind began to play the memory He had not really wanted to relive this memory, but like a nightmare he suddenly had become trapped within it. As he watched the street below him, his eyes could not move away when two strangers of his past met on the street.
The first stranger, a young racoon was dressed in a large winter jacket. With his overlarge jacket and cocky strut his appearance spoke no lie when he believed himself a gangster thug. The second stranger was an old wolf, dressed in a patch work overcoat carrying within him a bag of groceries down the street. With his ragged jacket, and weak walk, his appearance spoke no lie when he knew himself as a poverty-stricken commoner. With one walking towards the right and one walking towards the left, when they inevitably met in the middle of the sidewalk the thug racoon bumped a hard shoulder into the wolf causing the wolf to stumble.
"Big man! Trying to cause some shit?" The shorter racoon opened his arms threateningly towards the wolf who tried to ignore the menacing kid, "Hey old man I'm talking to you!"
"Leave me alone." The old wolf continued to walk down the street but the racoon caught up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder.
Turning around the wolf and flipping out a switchblade from his pocket the racoon began to menacingly wave the blade in front of the wolf, "You a tough guy? You like my knife? What are you carrying old man?"
"Just some groceries, I have no money."
"Bullshit old man. Give me your wallet." The racoon pointed the very tip of the blade at the wolf's chest.
"No! Get back!" The wolf tried to back away from the blade but the raccoon just shifted forward.
"I'll cut you old man. I've killed fuckers far more pathetic then you!" The racoon threatened. In an act of spontaneity the wolf then reached into his grocery bag and pulled out a glass milk bottle. Smashing the bottle over the face of the racoon, the milk splashed out into a fantastic formation off the head of the smaller rodent. Collapsing to the ground, the racoon's pacified body rested within in a pool of white milk. The wolf, pausing for only a moment to catch his thoughts, dropped the rest of the milk bottle that had remained in his paw and ran from the scene when he saw that the thug was not getting up.
The rain, which was but a drizzle before, began to downpour onto the racoon's lifeless body. Moist ran, met liquid milk, which began to mix within a pool of emerging blood from the racoon. As the rabbit looked onto the motionless racoon, he had first thought him only as unconscious, but as the body lay motionless for quite some time further, he knew that life had indeed left his body. Turning his gaze away from the window, the sound of flapping wings suddenly took his attention away. Sitting on the blanket of his bed, a white dove had landed.
With beak open it sang, "COO! He died of a brain aneurism you know. The wolf didn't murder him. It was just bad timing."
The song was brought to its measured end and the crowd clapped loudly. The furs within the stadium floor in front of the band suddenly stopped their dancing and turned to face the stage once more as though they had just escaped from a musical-induced trance. Breaking from a trance himself, Orpheus snatched the microphone in front of him and called out to the audience,
"Who is ready to go fucking wild?" Screeched Orpheus from the depths of his throat, "Who is ready to fuck, go wild and go fucking wild?"
"I am ready to go fucking wild." The fox in the pink "Yiff-Me" tank top screamed at the top of his lungs. Cupped hands over opened mouth, every bit of energy in the fox seemed to escape within his vocalizations, "I'll go wild!"
"Get that fucking faggot on stage!" The rabbit pointed a long white paw finger towards the fox and in a most effeminized response; he raised his flat fox palms to his mouth. Emerging from somewhere within the floor's crowd, a moose in a tight fitting black t-shirt with "security" written on the back helped the fox over the metal fence that divided the floor and the stage. Once over, Orpheus slung his guitar behind him and extended a paw and helped the fox onto the stage.
The skinny fox was a scrawny twig just like the rabbit. However, where years of alcohol and drug abuse had turned the rabbit skeletal, the fox's skinniness seemed much more biologically oriented. Standing but a little taller than the rabbit, his fur was a dark orange, with a long white streak stretching from the bottom of his muzzle into the depths of his pink tank-top. His head fur had been dyed green, freshly bright, it had been coloured just for the concert. Curling his long fluffy tail in front and into his hands, he stroked the puffy length over his skin-tight blue jeans as he shivered in excitement.
"What's your name?" Orpheus asked rubbing a paw over the foxes face.
"Clementine." The fox said leaning towards Orpheus's microphone.
"Well Clementine, you want to go wild?" The rabbit said, pushing the fox away from HIS microphone.
"You know it!" The fox let out a "WOO" sound excitedly extending his arms into the air as he screamed.
"Then suck my cock, right here, on stage-- for everybody to see." The rabbit crossed his arms and gave the fox an arrogant and judgemental gaze. His narrowed eyes and upward tilted chin looking condescending to the fox as though "Clementine" was a harem slave of his own royal court.
The fox lowered his ears, acting bashful and yet strongly offended. He stuttered, trying to find his words until somebody in the crowd yelled out, "FUCKING DO IT!" Following their cue, the rest of the audience within the stadium erupted into a reassuring group cheer, excited to see if they could indeed pressure the fox into pleasuring the rabbit.
Dave Mohl watching silently as the scene unfolded leaned in towards the rabbit whispering in his ear, "Are you fucking mad? You'll get us kicked off stage, banned from the country, or worse-FINED!"
The fox was caught in a moment of moral indecisiveness as his head jerked between Orpheus and the encouraging crowd. The rabbit leaned backwards towards his band mate and responded,
"Gang security, my friend, we are not leaving this stage until my show is done."
"And what about after the show, what about other shows? This little stunt is certainly going to make things difficult."
"There will be no other shows." Orpheus tried to fake a smile, but his quickly tearing eyes spoke of no joy. The shrew was left abashed as he took time to try and contemplate Orpheus's mysterious declaration. Possibilities of meaning flooded his mind but none of them could seem ultimately true. Catching the concerned look of Brandon, the shrew shrugged at his band mate, unsure of what to do.
"What if I show you my cock?" Orpheus persuaded talking into his microphone again towards the cheering crowd. Sliding a paw down his exposed chest and into his leather pants he began to play with himself. The fox nervously muttered but a single odd sounding syllable still made him seem like he was acting hesitant but as the bunny noticed the fox's eyes lower for a second he became confident that he could get the fox to perform on him.
Noticing, the security of the stadium that began to huddle amongst themselves, the bunny, still talking into the microphone, yelled out into the crowd, "Bull-Dogs! I need your favour! Save the show and protect the stage." Suddenly emerging like rising bubbles in an ocean of people, varying breeds of canines began to fight for the front of the stage. Each member had a leather jacket, with a bone shaped emblem and the words, "Bull-Dogs" written on the back. Standing like a wall, some fortified the front of the stage and others climbed the stage and began to set up a barrier around the border of the platform. The security began to rush into the crowd but stopped to look at Orpheus when he continued to talk into the microphone,
"I'm dying." Orpheus confessed spontaneously. Suddenly hostile security guards, confused band-mates, anxious audiences and stoic gang-members all seemed to pause within the emerging panic. Across a stream of apparent collected consciousness they all became petrified within the strange announcement, "I will not live to see the end of this show."
"Orpheus, what are you talking about?" Dave slung his guitar around his back and landed a paw onto the shoulder of the band leader.
"It's true. I've lived a hard life and I've done some pretty terrible things. In the quest from boy to man, mortal to immortal, I had learned to seek many of life's pleasures. I had always thought that in living such a life I had guaranteed in myself that I was going to die young. I was not scared to die young, because I would have died the rockers death. Over dose on drugs, collapse after liver failure, hell even kill myself in some sort of depraved sexual fantasy. Then I found out that the reason I was dying was cancer." The rabbit paused and looked at the fox, for the first time since his rise to fame there was a sense of mortality behind his eyes, "And for the first time ever, I was scared to die."
"Shit, Orpheus. Why did you not say anything?" Dave Mohl, collapsed falling onto his knees. In his paws he looked for answers, his eyes scanning fruitlessly as though looking at an ancient scripture written in a language he could not understand.
"There are few ticks left in my heart. In my dying wish, I only wish to go wild." In one swift movement Orpheus placed two paws onto his pants and pushed them past over his hips and let them fall to his ankles. When he exposed himself on stage, his long pink erection already grew tall from out of his crotch fur. The stadium was still spellbound within a poignant sadness as the bunny stood naked and aroused before them. Turning his body he turned to face the fox.
"I'll suck your cock." The fox moved closer to the rabbit and then knelt down, placing his mouth over the grown arousal that pointed straight forward towards him. Lowering his ears and closing his eyes, he slowly began to explore the length of the cock within his mouth. At first, experiences of grand sorrow grasped the fox's heart, but as he felt a reverberating beat pump within the rabbit's cock a rising sun casted bright ray within the fox's spirit. As Clementine's paws grasped the rabbit's side, clutching the firm and naked ass within his own predatory paws, his increasing delight in pleasuring the rabbit grew a sense of spirit within the crowd as well.
To what started as a weak tide of near-silent chatter, the excited cheers of the audience suddenly grew like rising waves within the stadium's ocean of sound until a tsunami of celebratory screams flooded the arena. The fox first responding to the pulsating cock he felt within his mouth, then with the audience responding to the fox, and then with the fox responding to the audience, suddenly Clementine's task of blowing Orpheus became like an act of divine worship.
With the fox's mouth, sliding up and down his shaft, hungrily lingering on the exposed flesh as though it was a nurturing teat, the rabbit closed his eyes and pulled his guitar from out of his back. He began to play his own solo song, "The Last Show of a Hard Rocker"
The song was built from the essence of the divine. As the song began, it summoned a feeling much similar to the uncanny feeling someone gets when noticing a hidden beauty in something before thought as mundane or familiar. Like the noticed beauty of a falling snowflake. As Orpheus played this song his mind began to wander one last time.
Only as his mind wandered into one last world he traveled into a memory that he owned but was not his own. Like a fortress built over a secret catacomb as his mind wandered past his own memories, the world that he entered now came with an ancient feeling that seemed to surpass the limits of his own history.
In visiting this memory Orpheus can only remember but a few things. With his paw attached to another paw he could feel himself pulling-something-out of a dark void. Behind him there was a glowing brilliance, a shimmering and summoning light but he was afraid to look into it. But on the odd occurrence, as he navigated the cavernous like oblivion around him, he would feel the needing desire to look behind him.
Orpheus played his golden guitar with his eyes closed as the fox worked his mouth over the exposed shaft. The music from his guitar twirled and twisted spinning like a vortex of sound. The mystic vibrations echoing in a sacred tongue as its sound snaked its way into the surrounding people's ears. Underneath the skulls of band mates, gang members, audiences, and security folk alike glowing hands began to appear and as though they were striking piano keys, they fingered along the surface of the cerebral organ. Each song, the same, but individual in the keys the phantom fingers played.
As Dave Mohl began to undress himself, the song had possessed him with only one thought and that was the word sex. As Mick Treewood found himself nude and climbing towards an equally as nude Draft Punk who in waiting stood on top of his metal pyramid, the song had possessed them both with only one thought and that was the word sex. As Brandon Flowhares, dropped trousers and began to pumped his quickly hardening cock over the keyboards of his standing piano, the song had possessed his mind with only one thought and that was the word sex. And then as the audience, the gang members, and the security in the audience of the show began to undress becoming a united group of naked and exposed furs the song had possessed them all with only one thought and that was the word sex.
A need for only pleasure filled minds as Dave Mohl, dropped Clementine's pants, repositioned the fox, and then began to hump him from behind. Sexuality became expressed, as the fox accepted the Shrew uncaringly as he continued to work his mouth over Orpheus's own arousal. All mortal interests left minds as Mick Treewood bent Draft Punk over his electronic switchboard and began penetrating him with pure sexual need. The hierarchy of needs was disassembled as Brandon Flowhares, fingered himself, feeling his own prostate, as he leaned onto his keyboard, pumping his hard and long cock. Senses of shame, bashfulness, or moral obligations deteriorated as the entire stadium became an orgiastic commune dependent solely on the holes and shafts of their fellow man and woman.
As Dave Mohl with full force pushed into the fox, Clementine's accepting hole seemingly invited the near-violent and repeating penetrations without question. As Orpheus in another mind wandered a blank expanse, Clementine could only focus on the cock that was within his mouth. As Mick Treewood pushed and pulled his cock, mechanically and perfunctorily within the horse, Draft Punk in a large hand had begun to masturbate himself. As Brandon Flowhares, dived fingers deeper within himself, he writhed on the stage floor in unrestrained delight as his hand untiringly rubbed his own cock. And finally, as the audience collectively humped and rode each other Orpheus found a weakness grow into his heart.
And in another world, Orpheus finally turns his head to see that glowing light was really but a light at the end of a long tunnel.
And then on stage, Orpheus drops his guitar as his knees give away. But Dave Mohl continues to pound the hole of the fox. And then on stage, Orpheus falls onto his back. But Clementine only lowers his head and begins to enjoy Dave's penetrations. And then on stage, Orpheus opens his eyes as he feels his heart begins to beat slower and slower. But Mick Treewood only continues to give desire into Draft Punk. And then on Stage, Orpheus sees a crow and a dove fly side by side in circles high above his head. But Brandon Flowhares only appreciates the pumping paw that words his cock and the exploring paw that plays his own hole. And then Orpheus closes his eyes. But the stadium only gives into each other's pleasures. And then Orpheus was dead.
"Live fast and die hardily." A large smile forms on the bunny as his disembodied head floats in the sea, "That has been the way of Orpheus Hardfoot ever since the day he was born
Author's Notes:
This story went through mutiple stages of design. What started as a simple story of a Rockstar getting pleasured on stage turned into a psychological exploration of a Rockstar getting pleasured on stage, then into a multi-referential psychological exploration of Orpheus getting pleasured on stage, then into the absurd, surrealist, word-fest that became the finished project.
With each of my writings that I do furry or not, I always try to keep a sense of exploration and experimentation. That being said, there is a lot I like about this story but alot that I am frustrated with too. In my own narrative limitations I found it challening to really drive deeper into the sexual scenarios, so as a sexual story I think this faulters. It has sex--ALOT of sex--but in trying to do something more then just sex it's become less sexy. Which I think is kind of the sad story of my life in a way.
It's funny, the story does not work as well if it's clean but at the same time I don't think I succeeded in making it very sexy.
Also I suck at editing...especially when the hours start dragging me into my bedtime. I really need to learn to not be so excited to upload my stories and take more time in the final review but I'm confident that my story is comprehensible on at least a basic sense. That being said, if you read this story and fully understand it on your first read through then I'm not doing my job in trying to promote myself as absurdist.
THAT being said, although I encourage your analysis and if you want to take the time to try and tackle some of the ideas I put into this paper then go ahead--but if I find that you found my story too accesible it's only going to motivate me to make things less clear--I mean...more expresionsitcally ambiguous.
As for upcoming projects, I actually have been working on the second chapter of my sci-fi story but am haulted in creative differences with my muse (we fight alot). I actually have some non-anthro work I am currently creating as well so it's most likely I'll be ghosting over the next while. Also Skyrim comes out on Friday. So there's that too.
Perhaps I'll try to get something completed after exams and such in December but honestly I doubt my muse and I will work out our problems.
Okay :) Thanks for reading. Reviews, Criticisms, random comments, or sexy nude pictures of yourself in appreciation for my writing is always welcome.
Now what do I tag this story as?