FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Years back, Before Pax was Pax, The mouse would drive their dinged up second hand compact car near the outskirts of the airfield and watch the planes land on summer nights.

There was something about the light, the way it shimmered, and flashed on aluminum, the steady repetition of red bulbs on the ground, of green on a wingtip, the silhouettes and reflections felt, soothing.

They'd go to the airfield when they needed to clear their head, like that time, after Jeanie had asked them to the dance in highschool and the mouse simply...felt nothing, and turned her down. something fundamentally had changed, Things didn't make sense the way they used to, people looked at them differently, There had been an altercation at school about it. Class representatives didn't get black eyes usually, and yet someone had taken exception on Jeanie's behalf enough to challenge that notion by giving the mouse a fat shiner.

The contract, the promise of Keep your head down and your eyes straight and you'd come out okay had been in that moment sundered. People talked to them differently. There was hesitation, awkwardness, whispers in hallways, and gradually, The Mouse who Would become Pax, had retreated deeper inward.

Extracurriculars fell by the wayside, in favor of a part time job at the hardware store, the rodent's bright eyes and excitable tongue grew quiet. The world had shown them, that for whatever reason, they were -wrong- somehow, and what they had to say was now no longer powerful enough to bridge that gulf, the physical space that others would amplify when the mouse neared them.

And then a couple years after graduation,

One time as they were unloading the delivery van, They saw the gulf, appear again out of the corner of their eyes, the unmistakable pattern of people turning away, stepping aside, opening the void, and as they turned to watch, they heard voices, and then they saw it.

Bodies in black leather and denim, the guffaws, a slap on the shoulder and a hand in a back pocket of another person. The gulf was there, between those at the nexus of the gulf, and the rest of the customers in the Grocery store, but the nexus wasn't isolated. wasn't -alone-.

They collected a package from someone at the greengrocer next door to The Mouse's workplace, and mounted their rides, garish and outspoken, wild pipes, and chrome and they took off together, one had their hair in the wind, and the others followed.

As they passed by, The mouse's nose, twitched. Leather, Metal, Gasoline, Sweat and all of it...transfixed the mouse where they stood, something -compelling- in it, they shook their head as if to clear it, whiskers twitching, they wanted to get back to work but the Roar of the engines turning over, startled the mouse. The box of goods for the hardware store falling from their hands, contents scattered. Pax Knelt to pick them up, seeing one rolling away towards the street, And Pax gave chase, catching it just in time to look up at the departing riders,

And then they saw the sunlight dancing on chrome, in hair, and bandannas, on rings and spokes and chains. and The Mouse who would become Pax felt their breath catch in the air. The gulf, wasn't banished, didn't dissapear, there was no enmeshment the way things had been, but now, it...didn't seem to matter overmuch, people moved away on the sidewalks, casting furtive glances, and whispers. But it didn't mean anything, to them, not to these who's bodies and machines bore the sunset like tiger stripes.

Nothing made sense to the mouse anymore.

The point of it all, their purpose, their place in society, their routine, didn't make sense.

And neither did the tightness they felt in their crotch, or the flush at their cheeks as they quickly picked up all the spilled items, struggling to find their composure as they went back to work.

Every so often for the rest of their shift, they'd find their mind wandering, to that large figure sliding their hand down into the seat pocket of their friend. They -had- to have known someone would see? right?

did they...just not...care?

what would that....mean? What would that even feel like?

The mouse trembled for a moment as they thought of that broad leather wrapped hand sliding down the back of their pants and...

The mouse missed the pegboard hook for the deadblow hammer they were trying to shelve, and the tool fell down and hit their toe. The Mouse's reverie was shattered, as they swore and hopped on their other foot.

Their shift ended without further incident, and after they clocked out, they stopped by the Grocery and bought a couple of beers. The mouse asked the old Badger at the checkout about the visitors earlier. The Mustelid said simply: "I make it a point of principle not to discuss my clientele."

"But I hear you and My boss talking about all kinds of stuff at the chamber of commerce meetin-"

"These ones are different. I'm sure they're...good people...but I don't -wanna- know what they're up to. And that's that."

The Mouse that Would be Pax, turned that conversation over and over in their head, as they parked their tiny yellow car out by the airport, and slowy, leaned back and watched the planes coming in.

And now the light didn't seem as bold, didn't seem to soothe or comfort.

And the mouse's mind wandered back to the thoughts of that hand.

And their own hand wandered surreptitiously down to their crotch.

The mouse, cheeks flush, couldn't stop themselves, couldn't suppress the squeaks that followed, at the recollection the yearning and the wondering, as they stroked and stroked, imagining those heavy hands touching them, that leather against their soft tawny fur, and that guffawing gruff voice....

the smell of sex filled the car's interior, and the mouse looked down, staring at their cum-covered hand.

The mouse trembled, in the afterglow, confusion and curiosity creeping in around the edges of their bliss.

Nothing made sense.

but now, the mouse, for the first time in a long time, realized there were answers to seek.