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Kevin Stair sipped his hot chocolate. The coffeehouse bustled around him, but he took no notice. He was completely engrossed in his novel.

The years had been kind to him. While he was graying around the muzzle and temples, the rest of his fur stayed the rich brown it had always been. The extra weight he carried still looked part of nature's design instead of hanging off him like ballast on a balloon. Herbert had dragged him along with him to the gym, and while he didn't even try to match the regimen of the power lifting boar, he kept himself healthy. Herbert's death had not put a stop to that.

"Excuse me?"

Kevin didn't hear the words the first time. It wasn't until they repeated that he realized someone was addressing him. He lowered the book and raised his gaze.

"Yes?" he said.

A boar stood before him. His skin was pink and speckled with gray. He seemed almost as wide as he was tall with a belly like a beach ball that hung over his belt, but when he moved it was clear that it didn't slow him down much. Round, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his snout. He was a dead-ringer for Herbert, albeit closer to Kevin's age when they'd first met.

Kevin's mouth went dry and his heart started to pound. For just a moment, he actually thought his love had come back from the dead. For one torturous moment, he stepped back in time. Then the young boar spoke again and the spell was broken.

"Are you Kevin Stair? I mean, the Kevin Stair?" he said. He didn't sound like Herbert, even accounting for the difference in age. Herbert's voice had been deep and round, the voice of an orator. This young man's voice was almost nasal.

"I am," Kevin said after a bit of hesitation. He wasn't used to strangers recognizing him on the street. Though every one of his books carried his picture in the back, he wasn't that high profile. Even the kids he taught often had to be told who he was.

"I knew it. I told my girlfriend you were, but she didn't believe me. We both just love your books."

Straight. His disappointment surprised him. What did it matter? Despite his looks, this young man was not Herbert and could never be any kind of replacement. Still, the sight of him had turned that old longing from a dull ache to a sharp pain.

"Can I get you to sign... shit I finished that this morning. Wouldn't you just know I'd run into you without a book in hand," he was gushing a little; Kevin just sat back and let him go. He didn't want to embarrass the kid by pointing it out.

"Do you go to school here?" Kevin asked.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm majoring in engineering."

"You know I teach here, right? Modern Lit? Come by my class sometime and I'll happily sign whatever you want."

"Really? That'd be great Dr. Stair, thank you."

"You're welcome, Son." Kevin didn't make a practice of calling young men son, he thought it somewhat demeaning to both of them, but somehow it felt comfortable here.

"Would it be alright if I brought my girlfriend? She's the one who turned me on to you in the first place."

"No problem. Just don't bring a whole library along."

"I won't. Oh, my name's Charles, by the way, friends call me Charlie," he extended his hand and Kevin took it. He had a firm grip, enough to keep it out of limp fish territory, but not so as to be challenging or painful.

When Kevin dropped his hand, he looked at his watch and swore.

"I'm going to be late for class. It was nice to meet you Dr. Stair." Then he was running for the door, lidded coffee in hand, backpack bouncing above his butt. Kevin couldn't help but watch it move. The backside, not the backpack. He realized he was getting hard.

He groaned and went back to his book. It wasn't nearly as interesting as it had been a minute ago. He couldn't get the kid out of his mind. He had looked so much like Herbert it hurt. And he was straight! There wasn't even a chance for a chance. Telling himself that looking like Herbert didn't make him Herbert didn't help.

Kevin finished his hot chocolate, closed his book, and left the coffee shop. He had a class in half an hour, a lecture on F. Scott Fitzgerald. He also had an erection that wouldn't go away. His brain refused to let go of that young man. It was busy dragging fantasies across his mind's eye, uncomfortable combinations of memories of his times with Herbert with new fantasies involving Charles.

He had time before his class to visit his office if he hurried.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. Even though it had been nearly five years since Herbert's passing, lusting after this younger version of him felt like a betrayal. Herbert had been that one in a million and now he was being replaced by a straight kid of all things.

It was just a fantasy, he told himself. Besides, you know you're not really fantasizing about the kid, you're fantasizing about getting Herbert back, even if it means some lame attempt at replacement goldfishing.

He reached the top of the stairs and the office he had shared with Herbert. Two desks were pushed together in the middle of the room. They didn't match, except for in height, one was a heavy mahogany monstrosity while the other was a more modern light-stained confection. Both were capable of supporting Herbert and Kevin as had been proven repeatedly. One side was overspilling with papers and books, the other was neat and tidy.

Five years and the office was still the same. He hadn't even cleaned his lover's desk, as if that would somehow wipe away another part of him. In his bathroom at home, their bathrobes still hung side by side. Their toothbrushes stood at attention together by the sink. Half of the closet and dresser space was still his.

He found it comforting to be surrounded by Herbert's things. Even things he had found irritating while he had been alive were retained just the way he left them. It probably wasn't healthy, but Kevin wasn't interested in healthy. He just wanted to stay as close to Herbert as he could. Which explained Charles, for sure.

He settled into his desk, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his cock. He closed his eyes and the strange Herbert-Charles gestalt appeared in his mind's eye, naked and hard. He got on his knees and looked up with that expression of hesitant longing Herbert always seemed to wear during sex.

The fantasy didn't get any farther than that because that's when Kevin came, shooting blast after blast into his hand. Shit, he had been hot. When he was finished shooting and he pulled the last little bit out of his urethra, his brought it to his mouth and licked his hand, imagining it was Herbert's cum and cleaning off every drop.

Fuck, he missed that man.

He checked his watch. More than enough time to get to class without having to run.

He tucked himself in, refastened his pants, and went on his way.

Class was over as soon as it began. The class was uninterested in the subject and Kevin wasn't interested in teaching it, so he cut the lecture short and sent them on their way. He sat at his desk in the lecture hall, staring off into space.

At least he wasn't tearing up. It had taken him almost a year before he could even look at something of Herbert's without tears standing in his eyes.

He thought back to the first book they wrote together. They'd done it in Herbert's office; Kevin hadn't earned his PhD and couldn't yet claim it as his own. Their desks were just as they were now, face to face. Herbert liked to use an ancient typewriter, Kevin happily typed away on his PC.

More than once that position had led to loaded looks across the hard wood that had led to sweaty coitus right there, and after a quick cuddle on the floor, they'd right their clothes and get back to work. There were nothing but good memories when it came to Herbert. Even their fights, none of which were serious, could bring a smile to his lips. It had been a perfect life; right up until the first time Herbert stroked.

Two months and three massive strokes later, Herbert was ready to die. Brain damage resulted in near total paralysis. That he could have lived with. Kevin wouldn't let him do any less. They were both determined to avoid repeating the past.

But the last stroke stole his ability to read and write and that was simply too much.

"I can't live like this," Herbert said. Every word was a struggle to get out through a mouth that only half worked.

Kevin struggled to hold back his tears. He had known it was coming, as soon as he'd heard the doctor speak, he'd known it was the end. Books were everything to Herbert.

"I know," Kevin said.

The next time the doctor came to check on Herbert, Kevin followed him into the hallway.

"He's done, Doctor," he said, "He wants out."

The doctor looked gravely at him for a moment and then said, "Excuse me, Dr. Stair, is this a bad time?"

Kevin snapped out of his remembrance and realized there were tears on his cheeks. He wiped away the moisture that hadn't soaked into his fur yet and looked for the speaker.

Charles stood at the doorway, taking up the whole frame with his bulk. Kevin motioned him into the room. He tidied up his desk, giving himself something to do while giving his eyes a chance to dry. When he looked up, he saw that Charles wasn't alone.

A black-furred bear stood next to him. She was short, barely five feet tall, if that. She wore a low cut shirt to show off the golden horseshoe of fur across her breasts and a calf-length skirt that showed off her ankles. Small, tasteful earrings dangled from her ears. She smiled at him, flushed beneath her fur. He couldn't help but smile back. There wasn't a straight bone in his body, but even to him she was beautiful. She was almost as good to look at as Charles.

The pair approached him. He did his best to keep from staring at Charles' belly as it jiggled slightly with every step. He noticed the books they were carrying and he was surprised. She had a first edition of "Role Reversal", his first novel. It hadn't been a big seller until his breakthrough third novel; most of the copies had gone to remainders. Charles had the last book he'd co-authored with Herbert in hardcover, "Tears and Stone."

"Hi, Dr. Stair," Charles said when they'd reached his desk, "This is Trista, my girlfriend."

"Pleased to meet you," she said, extending her hand, "I've wanted to meet you ever since I was a kid. Your books have meant a lot to me."

Kevin took it. Her hand was soft and smooth, her grip gentle, but firm.

"I'm glad to hear that. I hope I don't disappoint."

"Oh, no, Dr. Stair, not at all."

"Would you like me to sign those?" he asked, indicating their books. Charles looked down stupidly at his for a moment, before scrambling to hand it over. He was very flushed. Trista was much smoother.

"Thanks," they said, more or less in unison.

"Any way you want me to sign it in particular?"

"Just however you usually sign," Trista said.

Kevin took a pen to the books, signing simply, "For Trista" and then "For Charlie".

They thanked him again as they took their books back and looked at the autographs admiringly.

"Hey," Trista said after a moment, "we're done with our classes today. We were going to go out for a bite. Did you want to come with us?"

Kevin hesitated. He didn't have any more classes either. There was a thick stack of essays on his desk begging for grading, but that wasn't what was holding him back. He couldn't deny his attraction to Charles, or the thoughts of Herbert that he brought to mind. Visions of him, naked and hard almost seemed to overlap with his actual form.

It was unfair to both of them. It made Charles little more than a sex object, a rough copy of Herbert for Kevin to recapture a bit of the feelings missing since his passing. For Kevin it was simple torture. He missed Herbert so much, wanted his return so much he was actually contemplating seducing this young man away from his girlfriend.

He knew better than that. It had no chance of actually succeeding, and even if it did, he couldn't see any kind of positive result. Someone would get hurt, and it was almost definitely him. He didn't need to put himself through that.

The word 'no' formed on his lips. It was meant to be followed by the words, "I can't. I've got a ton of papers to grade." Once he had no out, though, Charles' face fell, so much like Herbert it squeezed his heart like a constrictor snake. Instead he found himself saying, "No reason not to, I guess."

Under the pretense of fiddling with a drawer, Kevin adjusted himself in his pants so that his erection wasn't showing and then stood.

"I should go home and change," he said.

"You look fine, Dr. Stair. I mean, unless you're worried about your clothes." Trista said.

"We're not going anywhere formal," Charlie added.

"Please, call me Kevin. Only my students call me Dr. Stair. It makes me feel like I'm teaching still."

"Alright, Kevin," Trista said, trying it out. Apparently she liked the way it felt in her mouth, because she smiled and nodded firmly.

There were a few books and papers he needed to drop off at his office, but he elected to lock them up in his desk instead. He wouldn't be doing any more work that night anyway. Once everything was squared away, he motioned for the couple to lead the way.

They took him to Riley's, a basement bar frequented mostly by townies. It wasn't a particularly hip place, which suited him just fine. A long time ago he'd enjoyed being lost in a crowd, feeling the excitement from the crush of bodies, each one feeding off the others as they had fun as furiously as possible. Now he preferred quiet and calm. Probably Herbert's influence; without Kevin he would have been a complete shut-in.

They found a quiet booth.

"This isn't a normal hang out for you college kids," Kevin said as they sat down.

"College bars are always crowded and loud. You can't hear yourself think much less talk," Charles said.

"The food here's great, too," Trista added. A waitress appeared.

"Can I get you kids anything?" she asked.

"What beers do you have on tap?" Charles asked. She went down a list from memory and Charles chose one. Trista ordered a Bloody Mary. Kevin had water.

"Water? What kind of an author are you? Aren't you all supposed to be soaked all the time?" Trista said with a laugh.

Kevin shrugged, "I haven't really drank since I met Herbert. He wasn't one for it. Said it made everything too foggy and he liked to be able to think."

"You know, something always kind of bothered me about you two. I don't mean to be all old fashioned, or whatever, but why didn't you two ever get married?" Charles asked. Trista kicked him under the table.

"Ow, what?" he said. She darted a serious look towards Kevin. Kevin laughed.

"No, it's alright. I don't mind talking about him." His voice was cheerful. He hoped it didn't sound too forced. He didn't mind talking about Herbert, but marriage had always been an issue between them.

"Herbert was afraid that if we got married I'd feel trapped somehow and it was very important to him that I not feel any kind of obligation."

"That doesn't make very much sense," Trista said.

"Herbert had some funny ideas. I assume you read Man Loved By Despair. I explained a lot of it in the afterward. He got hurt and he was desperate that he not do the same to me."

"But you wanted to?" Trista said.

Kevin nodded. "I loved him more than anything. A lot of people say that marriage is just a piece of paper, but they're wrong. Marriage is a promise, and even though we both made the promise in our hearts and lived it, I always wanted a little more that. I wanted to proclaim to the world that we belonged to each other and that we always would." Kevin suddenly realized his voice had cracked and tears were threatening to fall. He turned away and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry," Charles said, "I didn't mean--"

"No, no. It's alright. I said I didn't mind talking about him."

"You must miss him a lot," Trista said. Kevin nodded, still looking away. He dabbed at his eyes with his knuckle, turned back, and forced a smile.

"Enough about that kind of stuff. Tell me about yourselves."

Their drinks came. Trista passed hers over to Kevin.

"You look like you kind of need this."

He looked at it distastefully. Bloody Maries had never been his style. He did feel like he could use a stiff drink, maybe a strong buzz. Pushing the drink back, he signaled one of the wait staff.

"I'll have a Jameson, please."

Trista cocked an eyebrow, "a serious drink."

"I'm a serious guy," he said with a smile.

They all laughed, despite the weak joke. It only took a moment for his drink to come and he took a sip. It tasted as good as he remembered. He grimaced.

"You don't have to punish yourself," Charlie said.

"The taste is part of the experience." Kevin said, "When you first start out, you can't help but flinch. As the night goes on, each one gets easier and easier. When you don't even notice the taste, you know it's time to stop."

"Does that actually work?" Charlie asked.

Kevin downed the rest of the glass and shrugged, "no idea. I haven't had a blackout yet, though."

"Another?" asked a waiter from nowhere.

"Two fingers, thanks," he said. Once the server was gone, he said, "good service here."

"There's a football game tonight. I guess they're overstaffed to prepare for that," Trista said.

Kevin grunted and looked at the menu. He always had trouble choosing what to order at a new place. Just about everything looked good. His stomach prodded him to just pick whatever looked to have the largest serving size. His mouth begged for whatever looked the most interesting. His mind struggled in vain to find some sort of happy medium between the two.

He took a sip of his whisky to distract both and give him some breathing room. The warm liquid washed over his tongue. Without even realizing it, he tipped the glass back and downed it. When it was all down his gullet, he looked at the empty glass in surprise. His head wobbled a bit and his stomach felt warm. He frowned and put the glass down.

His companions were too busy looking at their own menus to have noticed. He quickly raised his menu again. He didn't want to ruin their night by being serious.

When the waiter came again, they all gave their orders. The two young lovers grilled Kevin on his books while they waited for their food. Another whiskey appeared on the table in front of Kevin.

"I didn't order that," he said to the waiter before she could scurry away.

"It's from an admirer. She asked to remain anonymous."

He looked around the room, trying to spot whoever it was. There were a few women sitting at the bar and scattered around the room, but none of them were paying any attention to him.

"Should I take it away?" she asked.

"No, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings."

"Let me know if you need anything else." She departed.

"That happen often?" Charlie asked.

"Never, well, not since George-- Dr. Tangle and his wife dragged me out to a gay bar. And I think they were bribed." His eyes narrowed. "You didn't..."

"Me?" Trista said, then she laughed, "That's a little sneaky for me."

Kevin took a long sip. By the time it was done, there was barely a hair left in the glass. He finished it off. That made it three whiskeys in half an hour and before he'd eaten. He felt light headed and carefree. He needed to slow down or at least put something else in his belly. He glanced over at Charlie and giggled. Then he clapped his hand over his mouth as the young couple gave him puzzled looks.

"What's funny?" Charlie asked.

"Nothing," he said, "I'm just feeling the booze is all. When's that food going to get here?"

Trista laughed. "We just ordered. You're a big hungry bear, aren't you?" she said in a cutesy voice.

"Are you flirting with me?"

"I'm not drunk enough yet to start openly flirting with other men in front of my boyfriend. Give me some credit. Besides, you're gay. What would be the point?"

"Gay or not, I'm still quite a catch, aren't I? A hot bod and money in the bank, isn't that every woman's dream?" Another drink arrived for him. He drank it straight away and didn't even feel the burn in his throat.

"Uh, Kevin, maybe you should slow down," Charlie said.

"Why? Can't keep up?"

Charlie opened his mouth to answer, but Trista smoothly cut in.

"I love this song, do you want to do dance? I'd ask Charlie, but he insists he has two left feet."

"Mine are all rights," Kevin said, and after looking around added, "And nobody else is dancing."

"There's almost nobody else here. Come on, it's half over already. It won't be more than a minute or two."

Kevin relented. "At least looking like a fool will take my mind off waiting for the food."

He stood up, somewhat shakily, and let Trista lead him away from the table.

It was a slow song, so she pulled him close to her. He was sure they looked ridiculous; she didn't even come up to his chest. Her arms didn't reach more than half way around his waist. It looked like a daddy-daughter dance. The fact that his balance was compromised by the alcohol didn't help one bit.

After less than thirty seconds, he was ready to go back to their table.

"Trista--"

"What do you think of Charlie?" she asked, interrupting him. The question caught him by surprise. She looked up at him. He wasn't sure he recognized her expression. It was innocent and open, but he thought he saw what could be lust hidden in it, and a certain amount of slyness that made him nervous. But not nearly as nervous as it would have made him had he been cold sober.

"I don't really know Charlie."

"That's not what I meant. Do you think he's attractive? I mean, would you sleep with him?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"An honest one. Never mind. The song's over. Let's go sit down."

"I've got to use the restroom," Kevin said. He didn't, but her question had unsettled him. If she was as big a fan as she claimed to be, she had to know how strong the resemblance was, he did too. It had been something of an elephant in the room, but the way she had approached it, directly and even perhaps vulgarly, gave him pause. It felt like she was toying with him.

Safely in the restroom, Kevin peed. It was only a little, but why waste the trip? After washing his hands, he splashed water on his face in an attempt to sober him up. It didn't really work, but it did cool him down. He dried off and almost ran into Charlie coming into the restroom as he was going out.

They stopped, facing one another. Kevin refused to look at his face, Trista's question still ringing in his ears. There was an awkward moment as they navigated their large bodies past each other, with Kevin still unwilling to look the Charlie in the eye or touch him. In spite of his efforts, their bellies rubbed together and Kevin felt electricity pass between them. He didn't linger to see its effect on Charlie.

He returned to the table, determined to cut the night short.

There was another whiskey waiting for him. He eyed it warily. Were they trying to get him drunk? Well, they were beyond trying at this point, but he wasn't drunk enough to do anything he wouldn't do sober.

He sat down and Trista raised her glass.

"To new friends and new experiences," she said, and drained the rest of her drink. Kevin lagged behind, unsure if he should. He had had enough and was planning to leave immediately. In the end, he decided he would drink the toast and then excuse himself. Charlie was still in the restroom and there was no reason to be needlessly rude.

He screwed up his face as the whiskey splashed across his tongue. It wasn't a whisky taste, something else, bittersweet. He looked at the glass as he put it down. Trista moved next to him.

"Would you like to hear a secret?" she asked, leaning in close, putting her mouth to his ear. Her hot breath made him shiver. "Sometimes when we make love, we pretend Charlie is Herbert."

He looked at her in confusion as the room turned into a carousel.

"Kevin, do you feel alright?" she asked. Charlie arrived at the table. He saw Kevin's expression and immediately moved to his side, concern in his eyes.

"The whiskey," he said, the words slippery on his suddenly dry tongue.

"Oh, you had too much?" she said, louder than she needed to, "We'd better take you home then." Together they helped him out of his chair. Trista dropped a handful of bills on the table as they left.

Everything became a blur for Kevin. He was vaguely aware of being half-carried to his car and laid down on the back seat. He closed his eyes.

He abruptly found himself stumbling into his apartment. Was he singing? Pressure in his armpit that kept him upright told him he wasn't alone. He looked down.

Herbert? Through the alcoholic haze, his lover looked thirty forty years younger. What was going on? Why was he drunk? He hadn't been drunk since they'd moved in together. Maybe they'd gone out with the Tangles and Sheila had challenged him to some kind of contest. That seemed like something she would do. Why couldn't he remember?

Herbert helped him through their apartment and into their bedroom. Kevin noticed he was struggling to hold him up and breathing heavy. Something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Herbert could pick him up by the waist with shockingly little effort.

He couldn't keep the thought in his head long enough to work through it. Herbert slung him down on the bed and then started working on getting Kevin's pants off. Kevin giggled.

"Oh, I get it. You got me drunk and now you're going to take advantage of me," he said and laughed again.

Herbert frowned and looked behind him as if for reassurance or instructions. He turned back, chastened, and continued working the opening of Kevin's pants. Kevin tried to help, but his own fingers were so clumsy it was more of a hindrance, so he gave up. He smiled and spread out his arms.

It seemed like it had been a long time since someone else had taken his pants off. He and Herbert were very active in the bedroom. And the living room and the bathroom and the office and anywhere else they could snatch a few minutes of privacy. Again, the thought proved too slippery to properly dissect.

Herbert finally succeeded in opening his pants. Kevin managed to get enough coordination together to gets his hips off the bed long enough for him to get his pants and underwear past them. He kicked his legs and got rid of the fabric holding them together. Then he spread his legs, pulled his shirt up and his belly back; presenting himself to Herbert. He slowly became hard, which surprised him, considering how much alcohol he'd obviously imbibed.

Herbert stopped and examined him like it was the first time he'd seen him naked. Kevin felt his hand tenderly lift his shaft from its resting place on his thigh and turn it over. His touch was light and gentle like Kevin's penis was some sort of work of art. It was the touch of a new lover.

Kevin was impressed. Herbert was really going the extra mile to make him feel special tonight. His reactions made everything seem brand new. He liked it.

Herbert got on his knees. He opened his mouth to take Kevin inside, but just before it passed the threshold he stopped and looked away. After a moment he turned back, licked his lips, and hesitantly rested Kevin's member on his tongue before closing his mouth. Then he stopped.

Was this a game? How was he supposed to react? Was this a test of his self-control or was he supposed to turn aggressive? He decided to test it by closing his eyes and gently bucking his hips, just enough to let him know he wanted more without being demanding.

Apparently that was the encouragement he needed to finish the job. He slowly pressed forward, his slick lips sliding across the smooth shaft until Kevin touched the back of his throat. He gagged and backed off, but immediately went back. His hot breath on Kevin's mons made Kevin want move, but he was determined to let Herbert play out his game.

Still, it couldn't hurt to give him some encouragement.

"Mm, Herbert, don't stop," he said.

Herbert stopped.

Kevin was finished playing games. He grabbed Herbert's head with both hands and started working his cock in and out of his mouth. He moaned when Herbert took back the rhythm and added suction. Kevin propped himself up on his elbows and craned his neck to watch Herbert performing his magic.

Herbert pulled off, replacing his mouth with his hand while he brought his tongue down to Kevin's testicles and started licking. He put his whole scrotum in his mouth and held his mouth wide open. Kevin grinned as Herbert's tongue slid from side to side, juggling his balls. After a moment of that, he let the testes escape his mouth and dragged his tongue over the sack and up the shaft before capturing it again.

"Come up here and let me taste you," Kevin said. As much as Kevin liked receiving pleasure, it felt selfish not to return it.

"Close your eyes," Herbert whispered. Kevin did as he was asked.

He heard Herbert's clothes slide onto the floor. The boar must have been extremely excited to not at least throw them into the hamper.

Herbert's body rubbed against Kevin's as he climbed up, their bellies flattened against each other. He left a wet trail behind as he moved across the expanse of Kevin's stomach and then chest. Kevin dutifully kept his eyes closed until he felt his erection against his lips. He opened his mouth to allow it in. Then he opened his eyes and moaned around his lover. All he could see was belly, a sight that had always driven him wild.

Herbert moved his hips, sliding in and out of his lover's mouth. Kevin alternated between suckling and flicking his long tongue across the underside of Herbert's scrotum. Herbert's motion quickly became irregular and the flow of his precum increased. Kevin had to reach up and put both hands on Herbert's belly to get him to stop. He pressed back, his hands sinking into the older man's belly before he got the message and moved back.

"How are you going to fuck me if you cum in my mouth?" Kevin said. In response to his words, Herbert's cock pulsed and jumped, and a stream of semen shot out. Herbert groaned as it landed across Kevin's muzzle. Kevin quickly opened his mouth to catch the rest.

While he was glad he still had such an effect on his lover, he was disappointed he wasn't going to get fucked. It had been years since Herbert was capable of a twofer, but to his surprise, Herbert's erection didn't go down. Kevin reached out and batted it with a finger. It bounced back, still rigid.

"Did you take some Viagra or something?" Kevin said as Herbert slid down his body. He wouldn't look directly at his partner, but Kevin could see he was looking a little sheepish.

Kevin reached over to the nightstand and picked up the lube. He squeezed a small amount on the tips of his fingers and passed the bottle to Herbert. He quickly rubbed some across his anus before inserting a single finger. He closed his eyes as he worked at loosening himself up, adding two other fingers as it became appropriate. When he felt ready, he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the hand towel they kept by the bed for just such a purpose. He lifted his legs up under the knee, presenting himself to Herbert.

Herbert immediately lined his erection up with the loosened hole and smoothly pushed in. They moaned in unison when Herbert hilted himself. He stopped there, letting them both enjoy the feeling, before he began his rhythm.

The feeling of strangeness grew stronger. He'd accepted the other inconsistencies, but they were quickly adding up to be too big to ignore. The way he was moving was just wrong, down to the way their bellies rubbed together. Was he sobering up? He closed his eyes and tried to retreat into what he was afraid was some drunken hallucination.

"Please," he whispered. Herbert pulled away suddenly, still thrusting, but minimizing the amount they touched. Then the bed shifted as if a third party had climbed on and then straddled him. His eyes shot open.

A strange bear stood over him, naked, her sex glistening, held open by two fingers as a third flicked across the hood of her clitoris. He tried to sit up, to say something, to object, but he couldn't. He felt like a prisoner in his own body as she took hold of him and guided his erection into her.

She smiled at him, a malicious cat smile, and leaned forward. Grinding her pelvis into his, she groaned as her mouth reached Kevin's ear.

"I knew you'd feel good," she whispered to him, before running her tongue along his earlobe and taking between her teeth. "Am I your first, Kevin? I'd like to think I am." Then she bit him, hard. When she sat up a moment later, he thought he saw blood on her muzzle.

She moaned and yowled as she rode him. One hand took his nipple between blunt claws and pinched and twisted as the other mirrored its actions on her own.

Kevin felt the false Herbert stop. The she-bear looked back and scowled.

"Why did you stop Charlie?" she demanded.

He tried stammering out an answer, but she reached back and pulled his mouth to hers, engulfing him in an intense kiss. She didn't stop grinding against Kevin.

"Fuck him, baby," she said, looking into his eyes. As if hypnotized, he started moving again. She planted her palms firmly in Kevin's belly and redoubled her efforts.

Despite the tight, slick, sheathe that squeezed him he felt no pleasure. The penis that filled his rectum imparted only pressure. He felt doors in his head closing, removing him from the situation. For the moment, he was grateful, even though he knew that eventually he would have to pay the piper.

It was with dispassion that he watched her stop grinding her pelvis on his and call out an exultant orgasm. She collapsed then, falling across his body. Her hot breath blew across his chest, but he was barely aware of it.

Charlie hadn't finished, but his heart was clearly not in it. Kevin could see his face clearly for the first time and misery might as well have been scrawled across it with black marker. He might have felt sorry for him in different circumstances. As it was, he felt nothing.

Charlie stopped moving. Kevin felt himself slip out of Trista, soft and small. She finally dismounted, seating herself on the bed next to Kevin.

"What's wrong, Charlie?" she asked, tracing her fingers down his chest. He stepped back from her and from Kevin. Kevin was empty now, physically as well as emotionally.

"You're still hard, Charlie," she said, sliding off the bed. She began to stroke him, slowly at first, but then faster and faster. He started moving his hips to coincide with her motion. She switched hands without missing a beat and moved behind him.

He stepped forward, propelled by her weight against his back. Charlie closed his eyes and bit his lip as his panting turned into a long moan.

"Are you close baby?" she asked, even though she knew the answer. Kevin felt her aim Charlie's cock at his entrance and press him inside. Charlie buried himself to the hilt and came, jabbing himself as deep as he could on instinct.

Kevin felt the spurts, but as before, it was a hollow feeling devoid of meaning.

Charlie stood over him panting while Trista crooned something into his ear, her hands caressing the sides of his big belly and leaving faint trails of lubrication behind. He grew soft and fell out.

Kevin closed his eyes and willed them to leave. They were done with him now, weren't they? He felt weight on the bed beside him, lips on his cheek.

"Thanks for a wonderful time, Doc," Trista said, "maybe we can do this again." She kissed him and then was gone. Clothes rustled and rushed onto bodies, a door closed, and Kevin was alone.

He lay still on his bed, eyes closed. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes. Feelings suppressed by shock were slowly forcing themselves out. He choked on a sob and suddenly he could move again. He curled into a ball and held his knees tight. His once dull senses were sharp again, sharper than it seemed they had ever been. He felt the cooling cum drip from his anus, he felt the remnants of her vaginal lubrication drying into a crust. Pain in his ear and nipple showed where she had hurt him to pleasure herself. Worst of all he could smell them, a sickening cocktail of animal musk and perfume and sex.

He felt dirty and sore and betrayed and guilty. Guilty! His stomach roiled and rebelled. As quick as he could, he hauled himself off the bed and propelled himself into the bathroom. He slammed onto his knees, threw up the seat, and lost the contents of his stomach.

In a way it was a blessing. His mouth tasted of vomit, but at least the flavor of spunk was gone.

Once he was sure there was nothing left, he flushed the toilet and closed the lid again. That was what living with Herbert for nineteen years did to you, you closed the toilet lid after you were done, regardless of what your business had been.

He sobbed. Guilty. Replacing Herbert with a pale imitation. The fact that it hadn't been a conscious decision changed nothing. Herbert deserved better than to be used like that, the memories of their love turned into a twisted sex game.

Was this how he had felt back then? Had this caused his breakdown? Had he done this to him? He wanted to hurt himself, wanted to ram his head into the wall until he bled, until it cracked, until he forgot who he was.

His sobs turned into a roar and he slammed his fist into the side of the tub. He thought he heard something crack and he knew it wasn't the porcelain-covered iron.

No. There was no one to save him, no young student pounding on the door and calling his name. He was alone.

He hauled himself to his feet and stood in front of the mirror. He looked himself in the eye. He didn't know what he was looking for, but there was nothing there. They were just his eyes, puffy and red from the crying, but still just his eyes.

He looked at his ear. Sure enough, there was blood there. Maybe she'd bit clean through and he'd start wearing a ring there.

A joke? A lie that he was fine again. There was no laughter in his eyes.

He left his reflection and climbed into the shower. Hot water leapt at his command, hotter than he liked, but just as hot as he needed. He washed himself, scrubbing away at the filth, real and imagined, that covered him. He rinsed the vomit out of his mouth and then flushed his colon. He didn't want that seed inside him a second more.

When he was finished, he squeezed the water out of his fur and stepped into the full body dryer. He brushed his fur as he dried, keeping his mind completely on the task. Finished, he bandaged his ear and returned to the scene of the crime.

The room looked the way it always looked, except for the discarded clothes on the floor. He sent those to their hamper home and then changed the bedclothes. With the room tidied, he turned off the light and crawled between the sheets, proud of how strong he was being.

Then he cried himself to sleep.

The next day he followed his routine, cooked breakfast, read his paper. When it was time, he washed his dishes, put them away, and then went to work.

He had a lecture to give and one of his classes had an essay due. The fact that he had nearly a full class worth of essays to grade left over was not lost on him, but he carefully avoided thinking about the reason.

He surprised himself with how well he managed to give his lecture and answer the half dozen or so questions resulting from it. He dismissed his generally disinterested students and pulled the first of yesterday's essays from the stack and began to read.

Someone cleared their throat. Kevin looked up. It was Charlie.

The bear dropped his red pencil and stood up. He bared his teeth and gripped the edge of his desk hard enough to leave claw marks. The much smaller boar stepped back.

"What, the fuck, are you doing here?" he forced out through his clenched teeth.

"I just... I wanted... I'm sorry," Charlie said in a voice just above inaudible.

"You're sorry?" Kevin pushed the heavy desk aside and advanced. The boar retreated, but soon found his back to a desk. "You're sorry?" Kevin roared. Spittle flecked Charlie's face.

"I didn't know," he said, tears dropping from his eyes, "I didn't know that was going to happen."

Before, Kevin had thought he could pity the boy, now he only felt contempt.

"You didn't know? I was drunk, at the very least, and I think probably drugged too. Don't fucking tell me you didn't know."

"I just thought... you liked me. I don't party much, I've never seen anybody that messed up before... I'm sorry," Charlie wailed, "if you want to report us to the police, I'll go with you, I deserve it. I didn't know until you called me Herbert, but I didn't stop. Trista just... I couldn't stop." He sagged to the floor and sobbed.

Kevin stared down at him, not knowing what to do.

"I'm so sorry."

After a minute of watching him shake and cry, Kevin hauled him to his feet.

"Go away," he said, "I don't want to see you again." He returned to his desk and pushed it back to its original position. That's when he saw the books.

"What are these," he asked. Charlie, who had reached the door, stopped and looked back.

"The books you signed for us. It's not right that we should have them and... I'll probably never be able to read one of your books ever again anyway."

Kevin contemplated them for a moment, dropped one in the trash and threw the other at a surprised Charlie.

"Keep it," he said, "I'll probably be able to forgive you some day. Just don't forgive yourself."

He sat down and picked up his red pencil. The classroom door closed.

This isn't the end of Kevin's story. He'll get his well deserved happy ending. When I can manage it.