FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

***** Callen *****

I woke up on a hospital bed and wondered for a moment if I had died. I could remember getting sick with the plague that had killed a couple of hundred people on the base within the first week, and gotten worse after that. Blinking a few times and thinking about it, I realized this was the same ceiling I remembered when I was brought in. Sitting up and looking around I saw that there was a mostly empty box of MREs next to my bed. Looking down, the floor was littered with the overflow from a trash can with the packaging from MREs and a couple of empty boxes. Thinking back on it, I could vaguely remember fixing and eating them. I had been living in this room for a while and couldn't say when I last saw a RN or anyone.

I did remember though, the pain, joint aches, strange hallucinations, muscle spasms, and my skin feeling as if it was on fire. I could recall vivid, but short, periods where I screamed in agony and that occasionally someone would give me something for the pain. It had felt like my very bones had been melting. I shivered at the memory of the agony I had gone though.

Kicking the bed sheets aside, I slipped off the bed and stumbled onto the cold floor. I was dizzy for a moment but it soon passed. I moved to the bathroom and saw that it was a horrible mess, smelly beyond belief, but I had to go so bad I entered anyways; trying not to step in the dried vomit and piss that covered the floor. The floor was mostly dry and I got to the toilet and went to pee; tugging the hospital gown aside, I looked down to aim my pecker into the bowl and I jumped back trying to get away from what I saw.

I heard a whine and it was a long moment before I realized that it was me. I finally looked at myself again and saw that I was covered in what looked to be short dense black fur. Further down my pecker was wrapped in what looked like a dog's sheath. Skin where it showed was black like an animal's, just like the rest. Looking I found that my hands were fur covered as well, but were a rich tan color almost to the elbow. My fingernails were rather pointed and thick; almost claw like. The lights were out but looking into the mirror I saw my head was very similar to our family dog's head.

Mindy, our dog who had died last year, had been a pure breed Rottweiler and my head had the same heavily built canine features, all that remained of my face was the green eyes I had gotten from my mother. Looking down, I saw that my legs were built like a dog's hind legs as well, with the knee farther up. I seemed to be colored and built just like a young Rottweiler. Twisting about I saw that I had a tail behind me that was doing its best at the moment to curl between my legs. Over all I seemed to look more mature than I had before the change, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.

Thinking it had to be a hallucination or something I went over and tried to piss in the toilet bowl. I fumbled with my pecker and tried to point it down into the bowl but quickly figured out that a dogs sheath really isn't meant for such acrobatics. I tried pushing the sheath down and saw that inside I had a pink spike of flesh that hurt when I tried bending it. I finally gave up and peed into the shower. Then, as an afterthought I took a dump, which at least I could mostly perform normally with only needing to watch where my tail went.

Feeling better, if still not too sure if I was hallucinating or really had changed into a freak, I looked about for my clothes. While doing so, I became aware of someone in the distance screaming in pain. I finally found some of my clothes and hauled my briefs up and encountered a rather upsetting problem; my tail interfered with getting my briefs properly into place. If I couldn't get my underwear into place how were my pants going to fit?

My uncle, who had raised me from the time I was three, had taught me a lot about problem solving. I took my pants and headed for the door. Pausing and looking down at myself and the fact that I was only in underwear that covered about half of my ass I stuck my head out into the hallway to see if anybody was about. Thankfully no one was about; I headed over to a nurse's station and used some scissors on my jeans to cut a slot for my tail. Putting them on quickly least any one catch me in such a state of undress I found that the jeans a bit difficult with my legs shaped as they were. Worse than that, my briefs also felt really uncomfortable like that. I went back to my room, took off everything, and snipped the back of my briefs as well.

Testing that out, I decided two things. First, that briefs without an intact waist band wouldn't stay up. Second that pants with a cut for a tail were almost as bad. The first I solved by tossing my briefs away. I preferred going commando anyways, and second was to use some plastic tubing I found in the room to make a makeshift belt. I pulled a shirt on and then tried to pull on socks. My K9 feet, however, did have true claws and socks did not mix well with claws. Thinking about it, I gave up on the socks and shoes. There was no way the shoes would fit, with how my foot was shaped now, so why bother with socks?

When I tossed one of the shoes away, I saw an envelope that had been concealed by trash on the floor with my name on it and picked it up. Opening it up I found a hand written note from my uncle and a key.

Nephew if you are reading this then you have survived the change. I wish that I could say that it is a blessing from God but in truth, I don't know. Most who have survived the change have been young and the doctors say that while you are taking a long time to finish the change, the fact that you did not yet die was a sign that you would live but you would be mutated into some kind of half animal half human thing. That in itself doesn't seem so bad but adults do not seem to live through the disease. That means things are going to get bad in ways that I can only guess at. Starvation will be a problem within a year or two at a guess. Public utilities have already failed in a number of places. Government is already breaking down and the only reason riots haven't run out of control is most people are sick with this plague.

I have stashed a pack with a sleeping bag, some spare clothing, a first aid kit, basic survival gear, two bricks of ammo for your .22 rifle, and my service pistol with a box of ammo. Your rifle is with the pack as well. Head for the central U.S. and look for someone who has a clue about farming, lad. Starvation is not a good way to go.

One last thing, there is something I had been meaning to tell you and have not, to my shame. I love you and have been proud of your accomplishments. I should never have resented your entering my life and I'm sorry I wasn't a better father to you. I never had the courage to tell you, a failing on my part. No matter what, never think no one loved you or cared. That's a burden I would wish on no man, much less a boy.

But I guess I can't call you a boy now. Ready for the roll or not, you will have to be a man. No one your age should face such as you likely will, but I have confidence you will face it with bravery and a good heart. My hope and good wishes go with you and may God have mercy on you.

R. McBride

I read the note twice and wondered what the stains on it could be from. It wasn't until a tear of my own fell on the sheet that I realized my uncle had been crying when he wrote the note. My uncle never cried! It wasn't manly! But it was a note written by him and there were what appeared to be tear stains on it.

I tilted my head back and howled on pure instinct. I howled out my loss and pain for a man who I had, days before I fell ill, told I hated more than any other person in the world. I had said it to hurt him and for the briefest moment I had seen the pain in his eyes and gloried in it. I would never have the chance to tell him how sorry I had been to have said it. Never have the chance to tell him that I had loved him and would not have traded his hard ass treatment for anything in the world. That I had only said it because it had felt like nothing I did was ever good enough for him. I wished then, with all my heart, that I could tell him those things.

I don't know how long it took me to pull myself together. But after a time I did, and I reminded myself that a real man did not whimper, cry, or complain about what could not be changed but accepted the past and did what he could. I could almost hear it in my uncle's voice in my mind. I took a shuddering breath, squared my shoulders, and stood straight and tall. I said in a clear firm voice, "I won't let you down Uncle Rob". It was at this time, that I began to understand my uncle's deep religious beliefs. How much comfort had he drawn from praying to God?

I went down the hall and found the pack. It had everything he had said and more. It was one of the big frame backpacks meant to carry a lot of gear and it was loaded out with so much I wondered if I would be able to carry it. There was, according to the label, an arctic sleeping bag, and an all weather dome tent for two people, a pair of light weight aluminum pots, a fire striker, a canteen plate with basic silverware, a Ka-Bar, and hunting knife from Cutco. He always sworn the edges on those knives were the best. Binoculars, night vision goggles with half dozen spare batteries, four different multi tools, and two tarps. A pistol designed for the same rounds my .22 rifle used and his 1911A .45 pistol. Last, but not least, a Kevlar vest that fit me.

Hefting the pack I found it to be heavy but no worse then what I had been expected to carry on my uncle's camping trips in the past. I left the hospital only after seeing that no one else was there. I did find the person who had been making all the noise but when I checked him he was dead and cooling. From what I saw that might have been a blessing, as the person had three eyes and bony spikes growing out all over its body. I couldn't even tell if it had been male or female.

As I stepped out of the hospital and looked around, I saw that I was at Camp Pendleton's hospital, confirming that I was in the same place I had been brought to. I had a sudden thought, seeing as how I wasn't too far from home, and set out in that direction while keeping an eye out for people. I found the place I had called home for the last seven years and went in. I went to check my uncle's room but found the door blocked from the inside.

I tried to force the door and got a whiff of the odors inside and stopped. I had to draw a deep shuddering breath and count to ten to keep from losing it again. I had caught the scent of my uncle and death. After having smelled it at the hospital more than a few times, I knew it all too well now. I stepped back and wiped away tears and wished that I had not come here. Not knowing, I thought, might have been better than knowing.

I went to my room and dug into my closet after that. I pulled put a box that had been buried for a couple of months before I fell ill. Opening it I looked down at a functional replica of late Roman Empire lorica segmentata that my uncle and I had made last year for Halloween. But my uncle being a hobbyist blacksmith and SCA member had decided to make a real suit; even a helm with a horse hair plume. I smiled sadly at it, and tried not to tear up, thinking of the fun neither of us had quite admitted to the other when we were making it. I tried on the breast and back with the shoulders and found it still all fit. But some modification for my ears in the helmet was needed, as was some work on the skirt of leather and steel straps that formed the thigh protection. While the kevlar vest was tight fit under the armor, we had made it so it could expand some as I grew. I also added a kevlar liner from a military combat helmet to my helmet.

I ended up cutting holes for my ears into the helmet and altering the nose guard for my muzzle. I was sure that the big holes in the helmet degraded its protective abilities but having tried the helmet on without holes, I knew I'd never be able to wear it long without ear holes. The armor skirt however was a little more challenging in some ways and less so in others. I pulled out the strap that blocked my tail but found that my pants and armor did not mix well. With some experimentation I found some gym shorts that worked without too much chaffing and solved the tail hole problem by making it tie in the back instead of the front.

After that, I ransacked the house for anything that might be useful and piled it up. Some more clothes, my uncles hunting crossbow, and all the bolts he had for it. A set of rods with 'y' ends for spitting and roasting things on and some more ammo for the rifle and pistols. Part of me wanted to take some of my toys but I knew that they would be nothing but dead weight. Even so, I did grab my stuffed kangaroo and I thought I might need him for the first time in years. I added more tarps and two coils of climber's rope. Spikes and a hammer were added to the pile. A camp shovel went in and at last I thought I might be done. But the pile was way too much to carry, and I could tell just by looking at it. I went into the garage and got the utility wagon, that uncle used to move his stuff with, and piled it all onto that. Then, as an afterthought, I added his portable anvil and basic metal working tools.

I spent the night in my own bed for what I thought would be the last time. In the morning I stopped back at the hospital and grabbed as many First Strike Rations that I could find and .carry, they weren't as heavy as MREs. It made a respectable load even on the wagon, and as I left the base I remembered a place with rentable pack ponies, that we had gotten a pony from on one of our treks through the mountains and forest.

It took me two days to get there on foot. Along the way I picked up a road atlas at a mini mart that had been looted of food and drinks with little left to pick over in the way of edible things. Outside of that, it was quiet and I didn't see a soul alive as I made my way to the farm that rented ponies.

Once I got there, I found that the ponies were running out of food and water that had been put out for them. I let most of them out of their pens and watched them all trot or run to the river to drink their fill. All but the last one, who's name on her stall said, "Black Jack", I lead her down to the stream on a lead rope. She had been the pony I remembered us renting, and I could remember it clearly because my uncle had found something funny in my nicknaming her BJ.

She had been a good natured little shetland pony and even though I had thought ponies to be a girl's thing, at the time had taken to her. I had actually asked for a pony that year but my uncle had said we had no place to keep one; thinking back, I wonder if my uncle had wanted one as well because his voice had been wistful.

As I led BJ down to the water one of the ponies squealed and attacked another one, jumping on it from the side. Then the one on the bottom turned and I saw that the one on top had a boner and was thrusting it at the one on the bottom. They circled around twice and the male pony dropped off and nosed the one it had jumped on. The pony turned and I saw it was a girl with her tail raised. I saw she was flashing something under her tail at the male when he reared up onto her back again. With a few probing thrusts he found her cunny and drove his boner into the girl.

I was no more than ten feet away and could see his boner thrusting in and out of her cunny. While embarrassed by what I was watching, I was also entranced. I had never seen a sex, just heard descriptions. The male looked pretty fierce as he humped the female and she looked excited. The male stopped thrusting after only a very short time and seemed to relax. I saw his boner was softening and he dropped off the female, his pecker all shiny and dripping what I was sure was spooge.

The show over, I went to lead BJ to the water and became aware that I had popped a boner. I was so hard it hurt; reaching under my armor skirt I rubbed my palm against my sheath through my shorts and felt the urge to buck my hips. I snatched my hand away and thought I might die of embarrassment on the spot. The aching need for something I had never experienced was stronger than I had ever felt it before and I couldn't believe that watching two ponies screw had caused it.

I lead BJ to the water and waded into the stream with her so she could drink and I could get the closest thing to a cold shower I was likely to get. Even with the cold bath it took time for my boner to go down because I kept thinking about what I had seen. The stallion's lust and eagerness had been amazing and to get to see animals having sex had been an exciting new experience. I had stroked my pecker a few times previous to this but never spooged or felt so close to it before; I just hadn't felt a desire to. Now I found myself wondering if I could find a private spot and beat off. I resisted the urge, though, because I felt a man should be a master of himself and his urges. Anyways, I thought I might die of embarrassment if the first time I beat off I was thinking about ponies doing it.

After my boner subsided I lead BJ back up to the barn and hunted around for gear. I found the tack shed and the pack harness for her, although it took me a hour to figure out how to put it on right. BJ was patent with it all, though I could tell she wasn't thrilled with being put to work but she did seem happy to have a person around again.

I packed BJ's packs with all the things that had been on my uncle's wagon and headed out, leaving the gate open so the ponies could get out if they wanted to. I traveled down back roads, for the most part trying to stay away from big highways, as I set off for the farming regions of the US.

That night I woke up suddenly from a dream where I was the stallion thrusting into the mare; my shorts were wet and I could feel my pecker throbbing. Embarrassed, I turned on the camp light I had and saw a spreading wet spot in my shorts. Tugging them down I saw half my pecker out of it's sheath dark red with veins showing all over and as I watched it flexed as I felt a pulsing sensation as a bead of white formed on the tip to run down my length to soak into the fur on my sheath. Further down, I could see a big bulge like male dogs had some times when they had boners. I sniffed and could smell an odder that smelled kind of good, it reminded me of the protein bars I munched on from time to time.

My first wet dream I thought and it was of me humping a mare. I wondered if you could die from sheer embarrassment; had I still be human, I would have been blushing down to my toes. I tried to clean up then and there but touching my boner was embarrassingly pleasant and made more drops of spooge pulse forth. It took what felt like forever to end and made me dreadfully glad I was camping alone right then even if I had been feeling lonely. Maybe it was a good thing the plan was to avoid people for a good long while.