I'm not ashamed to say I badly need a friend...
Released under the Cr...
Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.
Once more into the breach! This is not as dark as my previous two stories; in fact it may not be dark at all. It's less overtly cheery than some of my other work, which I think is probably because of the season. Yeah, I'm gonna blame winter for that. Anyway, read and enjoy -- and as always, please chime in with criticism and feedback. You know I love you guys!
"I'm not ashamed to say I badly need a friend..." by Rob Baird
His lips were hot and soft on mine, panting breath tickling my whiskers like a promise. I clung to him tightly, wrapping my arms around his upper back, and when I drew myself closer to the warmth of his body he whispered my name with such fervent intensity that the meaning was almost genuine: I love you -- I love you, and I'll always love you...
And, in those moments, I suppose I loved him too.
It was always easier to feel that way when he wasn't really around, after all. I'd met Josh fifteen years earlier, when he was still studying to be a pilot and the thought of being married to a starship captain sounded exotic and glamorous. Young and stupid, that was me. In his spacer's uniform, with every reflective surface polished into luminescence, he looked dashing. Besides, he was a firefox too, and my parents approved -- how could I have said no?
But it's four months to Mars and four months back, in those horrid junks packed to the gills with emigrants, and supplies, and fuel, and not enough water for a shower more than once every two weeks. One time, just before he shipped out, he showed me aboard his ship. I lasted twenty minutes before claustrophobia got the better of me.
But now I was thinking of other things, as his tongue teased my lips and I parted them to meet him with a soft moan. He slipped into my muzzle, and my eyes closed as I played my tongue against his -- aching for his touch, longing to feel his claws beneath my shirt, dragging through my fur slowly the way he did in those times where it almost seemed like he desired me.
Then he froze, going completely still. My fingers danced along the small of his back and my ears perked in surprise. "Josh? Hon?"
He vanished, and a moment later a dull chime announced that the connection had been lost. I was alone, in the virtual garden I'd built for him plant by plant -- because he'd said he missed the sight of growing things. I called up a communications terminal and dialed in the Trans-Martian Telecom operator -- no, ma'am, I'm afraid we can't raise the liner right now. Yes, ma'am, I understand, but... interference in hyperspace, you know. No, ma'am, it's nothing to worry about.
Fuck. I wasn't worried, just frustrated. I disconnected from the oneironet and opened my eyes back in the real world. The real world, where it was early evening, and the bustle of businessmen walking home from work caught my ears. Where instead of a garden the only things around me were the sterile walls of the cluttered apartment. Where I was a few kilograms heavier, and a few centimeters shorter. But who wasn't -- right?
Outside, the summer evening was warm and pleasant against my fur. I walked down to Washington Park and sat on the banks of Grasmere Lake, trailing my toes in the cool water and trying not to feel jealous about the sounds of conversation and laughter I heard around me. I had friends and coworkers on the 'net -- and Josh, of course -- but I was alone in Denver, and you never really know how alone you are until you disconnect.
Some nights, I try to decide if getting married was worth it. It's not an easy question to answer, because at heart Josh is an okay guy. At least, he's no worse than other spacers; most of them are flakes, which I guess is what happens when you're out in space for eight or ten months at a time. The company covers all their expenses; then they get their paycheck in one lump sum, when they land back on Earth. Most of them are too young to know what to do with the money.
His second trip back, after I'd spent nine months drawing on credit at the grocery store and trying to pacify the landlord with what money I could scrape together from odd jobs, Josh used half his pay to buy a sapphire necklace. He'd given it to me so proudly, I remembered, and it was all I could do to keep from killing him.
You learn to put up with it, eventually. It's worse for families with kids -- one parent misses out on a school year's worth of pageants and plays and homework; tries to make up for it in four weeks of nonstop partying. There's a support group that meets in Nairobi, which is a big spaceport city. But Josh didn't want to live in Nairobi -- too metropolitan, he said -- so he'd moved us to Denver.
Yeah, you learn to live with it -- with a partner who's gone most of the time, and the expectation that you'll be able to drop everything and cater to them when they return. I try to do that for Josh. My coworkers ask me how I manage it, and I laugh it off. I joke, saying that we may have been married for twelve years, but we've only been together for four.
And I try to smile when I say, well, there's always the 'net...
Like I said, sometimes it's easier to love someone when they're a hundred and fifty million kilometers away. You get to ignore all the niggling little things. Is the house unkempt? Do I want to fight about the checkbook? Does my fur look alright? Have I put on weight?
Nobody has morning breath in a dream.
I curled my bottlebrush tail up and about me, smoothing down the ringed fur, trying to soothe myself and almost succeeding. When the last of the twilight had faded I got up, padding back towards the apartment. The water of Grasmere Lake left wet prints behind me, and I made a little note to download something like it for the garden. It's the little things that really make the world -- for me it was the smell of coffee, as I ambled up Alameda towards my apartment.
I turned and slipped into the packed café -- almost drunk, for a moment, on the tumult of conversation. The line moved slowly, until at last I was standing before the bored young canine at the register, on the verge of begging: say something, please. Ask me about my day. Grace me with mindless banality.
But he didn't, waiting for me to order. "A small latte, and a hazelnut biscotti." Mishear me -- ask me if I want anything else. Just a little of that human touch...
"Eight seventy-eight."
I counted out the coins, and in ten words the only conversation I'd had with a tangible person was over. Back in the apartment, sipping the last of my drink, I nudged the computer to life again; my calls to Josh went unanswered.
On a whim, I hit the dial at random until the computer buzzed in displeasure: "The number you have provided is not a valid network address." I erased it, and tried again. And again.
The sixth time, reality disappeared and I opened my eyes in a spacious office. A well-dressed, completely jet panther was hard at work behind a glass desk. He looked up at me, eyes steely and voice sharp. "Can I help you?"
Taken aback, my ears flattening, I shook my head. "Sorry, sir, wrong number." He waved his paw dismissively and I was jerked back to the apartment. It was strange, and a little frightening, that his irritation had seemed more real to me, more born of genuine emotion, than anything Josh ever said.
But it was conversation. I dialed more numbers; four or five failed attempts went by before I found myself drawn back into the oneironet -- this time in someone's bedroom. They were alone in the bed; an alarm clock whined on the nightstand. "Eh?" they mumbled. "Hold on..."
The bedroom disappeared. Now the figure was standing next to a stately oak door. He was wearing a suit, neatly pressed like most clothes on the 'net, but his eyes still looked slightly bleary. "I didn't mean to bother you," I said.
"It's okay," he managed. "How can I help you? Are you having problems with your connection?"
"What?"
He looked at me curiously, and then snapped his fingers. A small clipboard appeared in his grasp, and he scanned it quickly. "I'm network technical support for TMT -- it looks like maybe there's a problem with your account? Step right this way, miss Hallenbeck."
The room beyond the oaken door was clean and well-lit, with two comfortable chairs separated by a modest table. I took one seat; leaving the other for the agent -- a badger, with dark stripes down his muzzle that brought out the color of his suit nicely.
"So let's see," he said, leafing through sheets of virtual paper. "It looks like we had a failed dial-out to a known number -- that would be... Joshua Hallenbeck, the primary account holder? And then your set just went crazy -- dialing completely random numbers. After the tenth failed connection it automatically connected you through to tech support."
"Sorry about that..."
"Ah, I was on standby. I didn't realize I'd actually fallen asleep... I just meant to lie down, you know? It's really my fault. Is there storm activity where you live?"
No, it was far more pathetic than a mere thunderstorm. "Not exactly. Look, sir, I..." He raised his eyes from the clipboard, and I suddenly felt extremely silly. "It wasn't a technical problem. I just got... curious. You know, to see if it would actually work?"
The badger's eyebrow lifted inquisitively . "And did it?"
"I interrupted some guy's business meeting..."
He laughed and shook his head, setting the clipboard down. "It's not the worst you could've found, trust me. So there's no problem then?"
"No, sir. I mean, at least, none I didn't cause."
"Alright," he said, and stood up. "Well, I'm glad I could be of assistance to you, in that case. Please --"
Half-panicked, I cut him off before he could abandon me. "A-actually, when you mention it, there, ah, there is a problem with my account."
"Yes?"
Now I furiously tried to think of one. "I... I... Oh! When I'm talking to my husband, sometimes not everything translates. I made some hummingbirds, but he says he doesn't see anything. I don't know if it's something I did, or..."
"It's not really my field of expertise," he apologized.
"But couldn't you take a look?"
His ears twitched, and he paused for a second before his slow reply. "Yeah... I guess I can. Where did you put the doll?" That was the colloquial term for the fictive constructs that populated the oneironet, dolls. In this case all mine were back in the garden, that private space I'd only ever showed Josh before.
I hesitated. "Can't you extract it? From my user file, I mean?"
The man sighed, shaking his head. "I can, but if you want my help it would be easier to examine them on-site. It might be a compatibility issue."
Wouldn't be the first time, I thought ruefully. "Well... alright. You can access our account's shared space. It's the sixth bridge from the entryway."
He scribbled something down on his clipboard and then snapped his fingers again -- suddenly we were in the garden, where sunrise was just starting to tease ruddy light from the petals of carefully tended flowers. "Oh, wow," he breathed. "Who built this?"
"The garden?"
"Yeah. Is this a Borgenstam original?"
"No. I... I built it myself. I'm a dream designer -- uh, sometimes. Freelancer. Some of it is inspired by Borgenstam, yes. Some of it is Mirsky -- particular her Study in Onyx."
The badger craned his head, indicating the balustrade with a paw. "You mean the metalwork there? Hints of Sakiyama, too, the way you've aligned the footpaths -- if I might be so bold..."
I found myself smiling shyly. "You know Sakiyama?" Josh had never commented on the work except to say that it was "nice," and most of the time it stayed in the background. He never noticed the little touches.
"Well, I used to live in Chicago -- actually, his ex-husband lived in the same block of flats as me -- designer in his own right. We never talked," he clarified quickly, "but still. Ah, this is really something." He strode about eagerly, eyes flicking from piece to piece, alight with excitement. "Have you ever considered putting a light fountain on this juncture here? I guess the pyramid is probably inspired by Borgenstam, but a fountain would really bring out the detail if you ever wanted to set a scene in the evening."
"I'm working on one right now, sort of. I mean... I-I've been working on it for a couple months. I'm not good with the programming, that's all."
"Yeah. Yeah..." he repeated, with a lingering sigh, and then shook his head quickly. "Sorry, I got all crazy -- don't mind me. You probably just want to fix your hummingbirds, right?"
"Oh. Right," I murmured. Then I spawned a pair, and set them carefully along a marble shelf. "These here."
"I can't see them," he frowned. "Go ahead and bring up the editing ring, and then expand the occlusion hierarchy. Do you see a node that says compatibility occlusion?"
My fingers brushed over empty air in the dream, fanning out the menus. "Yeah..."
"Do the options say 'q-x-l'? Yeah? Change it to 'q-a-o,' instead, and then snap the tree closed. Oh, yeah, that did it -- ha! These look really cute." He spun to follow their flight, stretching out his arm until one of the birds settled briefly upon it. "You've put a lot of work into this."
"My husband is a space captain. He's not around most of the time. I get bored," I admitted, "and... the only time we see each other is here."
"Yeah?" The badger's stubby fingers flicked, setting the bird back into flight, and he turned to me with a nod. "I kind of gathered." He took a few steps closer, and held out one of his big paws. "I'm Raul -- or RJ. RJ Dietz."
His paw dwarfed mine, but his handshake was warm and I opened up. "Linda -- I guess you already knew that, though."
"If we're gonna pretend to be in a garden, might as well pretend we just met," he chuckled. "You want to show me the rest of this?"
"Don't you have to work?"
RJ shrugged. "Aw, you saw how busy I was. It's evening where I live."
"Where is that?"
"Denver, Colorado canton. How about you?"
"Nairobi," I said, too quickly. "Nairobi, old Kenya."
Nothing suggested he'd picked up the lie. "Yeah? I've always wanted to visit. Do you need to go to work soon, or anything?"
I shook my head. "I can take you around, if you'd like." Trying not to sound too eager, I walked the man down the scarcely trod footpaths -- listening to him commenting on the plants I'd chosen, the positioning of the sculptures, the animation of the fish in the koi pond. All those things I'd labored at for no reason but my own satisfaction suddenly had a second pair of appraising eyes.
I think that's what dreaming is really supposed to be like -- wish fulfillment. An hour later, back where we'd started, I dreaded the thought that it was about to end -- found that I was looking for new things to point out, to ask his opinion on, to offer him. Sheer bribery, really.
"Have you ever wondered what it would look like at night?" he asked. "You said you were building a fountain, I'm just curious..."
I shook my head. "I haven't tried. Josh doesn't really get to see the sun very often, so he wants... Well, I keep it daytime here."
"Maybe you should try?"
Why not? I called up the environmental properties submenu; as I turned the dial towards 2300, I heard footsteps behind me, and when the sun faded slowly into darkness I felt the badger's arms close about me in a careful embrace.
"See? It's gorgeous. Look at the starfield..."
"I..." The badger's big paws slid lower, pulling me gently back against his stout body. I didn't resist, not physically. I was mumbling, trying to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary as my heart raced. "The... the moon, though... you don't think it's -- uh... you don't think it's too bright?"
His muzzle was at my shoulder, and warm breath melted into my ruddy fur. "Change it?"
I traced over the menus with a shaky finger, turning off the moon so that the night became a brilliant, inky black -- cut in two by the thickly painted ribbon of the Milky Way, and jeweled with stars that spilled like the reflections of shattered glass.
While my eyes adjusted, RJ settled down carefully, pulling me with him until we were resting on our sides next to one of the planters. The ground was soft, but what struck me most was how comfortable it felt to be wrapped up in the badger's arms.
It was the care he took that was so enticing. Everyone's beautiful on the 'net, unless they're making a statement; everyone's slim and light and sexy. You become jaded to beauty, and I didn't think it was my form that had drawn his eye -- yet here I was, a perfectly ordinary red panda with a perfectly ordinary figure that the badger's paws stroked tenderly, tracing every inch of my stocky frame. I discovered that I was torn between the urge to tell him to let me go, and the fear that he might. "My husband..." I managed.
His teeth found my short ear, biting down ever so gently. "Isn't here, ringtail." His fingers plucked at the bottom of my blouse, opening it button by button. He caressed the soft fur of my belly, working upwards with purposeful insistence. "None of this is here, Linda. It's all a dream..."
With my blouse opened all the way, RJ paused long enough to undo my bra, too, and as I felt his fingers kneading lightly into my breast I closed my eyes. For a moment I tried to imagine it was Josh's touch -- his claws, stroking through the downy fur, and his skillful fingers touching my stiffening nipples. First I found that I couldn't -- then that I didn't want to. My breathing was starting to become shaky.
"We shouldn't..."
"Stop me," he purred into my ear. He had known what it was, token resistance -- trying to make some attempt at saving myself -- and denied it to me in the sensual growl of that dare. One of his paws stayed at my breast, keeping me snug against his torso; the other slid down along my body to the button of my pants. It opened without a struggle, and he hooked his stubby thumb into my jeans and panties both, pushing them down roughly to bare the soft fur of my inner thighs to the warm night air.
I gasped when he touched me for the first time, the short, ticklish fur of his finger sliding between my lips, back and forth until it was slick and wet. Then he pressed it into me, working his finger to the knuckle, and I let out a sigh tinged with unmistakable desire. He pumped me slowly at first, the pace building until I was moaning wantonly, and just when I thought I might have to beg him to take me he pulled his finger away with a wet, slick sound, leaving an aching emptiness.
He fumbled for his belt and the catch to his jeans; I heard the zipper release, and a moment later I felt the steely, pulsing length of his erection pressing hot against the back of my thigh. He parted my legs smoothly with his foot, and when his fingers guided the tip of his cock to my sodden entrance I shivered with anticipation.
RJ didn't make me wait long for him; his hips arched, and he slid deep inside me in one smooth push. I'm sure that every guy is bigger on the oneironet than they are in real life -- but the skill, the careful expertise of his fluid, slow thrusts left me thinking that the badger could not have been exaggerating by much. Everything about it felt amazing, from the way his length filled me so completely to the warmth of his hips, grinding up against my rump.
Between his earlier teasing and the full, firm way he worked his shaft into me I was beyond hope of restraint and I hit my peak strongly. My body tensed, and a wavering growl tore itself from me. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced with Josh. I could feel the contractions of my pussy squeezing him, and he worked in time to the little shocks of pleasure that jolted through me in waves.
I came down slowly, aware that each time his hips rocked the badger's pace was growing incrementally faster, keeping me close to the edge. His paws gripped me strongly, guiding me as I started to move with him again. His muzzle nudged right up against the base of my ear, and my head swam with the sound of his heady groans.
I gave myself over to a second climax, and a third, my paws clenching in fists that drove my claws into my palms as I quivered in helpless ecstasy. Yeah, it's easier on the oneironet -- but so what? There was something irresistible to his unapologetic masculinity; the way he moved as he took me in strong, quick bucks.
RJ was panting harshly, his tempo growing erratic. It was clear that he was on the edge of release, and I realized with a debauched thrill how badly I wanted it. "Come for me," I whispered passionately, not even surprised at the heat of my own words. "Fill me -- make me yours..." He shuddered behind me, and I exulted in the feeling -- pressing my hips to his, keeping him deep inside me where he belonged.
Then he growled my name, and I felt his claws suddenly dig in -- right on that line where it might've become painful. His hips pushed snugly against mine, burying his cock as far in me as he could get it -- and I felt it twitch in short, rhythmic jerks. The badger's cum filled me in hot spurts, and he held me in a tight, rigid grip until the last of his seed had spilled from him and he let go with a sated grunt.
For a moment there was nothing but the sound of our panting; then he hugged me softly, and I put my paw over his, squeezing warmly. I heard his claws, rubbing distractedly against the wood of the planter next to us, and his strained breath as he fought to recover it. "Does this happen often," I asked him quietly, "with your customers?"
"Most of my customers aren't like you," he admitted. He laid his head between my ears, and it was at that moment I realized I was more comfortable than I had ever been in my life. Why hadn't it been that way before? Everything can be perfect, in a dream.
But it ended, of course; I knew that it would have to end -- you always wake up. He softened, slipping from me, and while he held me close for a few minutes more eventually he nuzzled my ear and allowed that he needed to leave, to get back to work.
Alone in the garden, what I had done hit me hard. I dressed myself quickly, turning the sun back on and feeling perversely cold after my moment of weakness. I'd enjoyed myself -- actually I'd felt closer to him, in that brief, fierce encounter, than I had to Josh in some time. The thought made me shiver. So did remembering how the badger had felt, making love to me.
I was about to close the simulation when something caught my eye. The soft wood of the planter had been marred. I brushed my fingers thoughtfully over it, and on closer examination I could make out the characters: "2750 W Colfax Apt 326B -- RJ."
I bit my thumb to stifle a little gasp and closed the simulation. It was dark outside now, and the transition came as a shock. So did the blinking message on my computer console: "Your dream has changed -- undo?" Back to normal? With the evidence of what I'd done vanished and the temptation of repeating it removed? I typed yes, reflexively, hovering over the 'enter'key.
But hadn't I got what I wanted? I wasn't even willing to admit to myself I was looking for it, but I'd found it anyway. Wasn't that a good thing? I erased the command, typing in no instead. Still I couldn't press the final key, though my finger rested on it, tapping distractedly so that the stone of my wedding ring sparked and glinted in faint reflection. Against the velvet black of my fur it looked like starlight -- and unbidden, I thought of being held, in a strong embrace beneath a glittering sky
It's hard being alone -- having to give things up; having to make do. And it's such a seductive, siren's call, telling us that there's another way. Maybe that was all I'd decided to do, back in the garden: give in. Dreams, after all, are who you are when you're not wearing any disguise. That's what makes them so lovely -- and so haunting.
And when it's only in a sleepless dream that we hear those fleeting whispers that hint at happiness, then who are we fooling by waking up?