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This is a not-so-little project that came together in about a week of feverish writing and revising, when all the inspiration for it just fell into place. I am, of course, very proud of this; I've never had inspiration pay off so spectacularly.

The cover art is my own; it's a style of art known as 'gesture drawing' which is often used when working from a live model. It's meant to be done in short bursts, to capture the pose and movement of the model, and it's a great tool for becoming familiar with a particular model's features and 'essence', for lack of a better word. I had a damned hard time doing it, actually, because I didn't have a model to work from; it may not be the best example because of that. The significance of the cover art will become clear as the story goes on; I felt it would be helpful to have an example of the style for people who don't happen to be art students, and thus haven't done gesture drawing until their paws fall off.

More discussion after the story, to avoid spoilers. Enjoy.

---

It had been a tough sell for my parents, at first. And really, I couldn't blame them. It's hard to get a good job with a graphic design major. Everyone's heard the stories about starving artists and the economy and all that. Begging people to commission something. All that.

Heck, I wasn't even any good at art. Paul Harrison was a name that belonged on the back of a football jersey, not in the corner of a masterpiece. That's exactly where it sat, in fact, for four years. Right above the number 14. Paul Harrison, wide receiver. Or defense, if it's just for fun. I was pretty damn good at it, too, thank you very much. I loved the shit out of that jersey and everything it represented.

What the hell would a football player do in an art class?

Actually, I guess the answer is "get a B minus". I did take one, in freshman year. An introductory course. Had to get those required fine art credits somehow.

A B minus in an intro course several years ago, and suddenly I was deciding to get a bachelor's. No wonder my parents freaked.

I knew it was weird. I knew it was stupid. But what was I supposed to do? Maybe it's a bit stereotypical that a big, beefy guy like me isn't exactly the brightest. I admit it. I knew I didn't have some future as an engineer or mathematical prodigy. I can't write papers worth a damn, and I can never remember details about science or history. The only thing I was good at in school was football.

And one day, a few weeks after high school graduation, as I was sitting in my truck and watching the sunset... I came to this realization.

I was sick of football.

Maybe it was just one of those weird changes that comes with growing up. Maybe I got tackled a bit too hard in one of those last games. Maybe I'd been fooling myself and everyone else, all along. One way or another, I knew I didn't want to touch a football again as long as I lived.

It was kind of a big deal for me, finding that out. You can imagine.

So what was I supposed to do? I was already going to a local college in the fall, was already registered for random prereqs and listed as 'undecided'. The loss of my athletic scholarship was a bit of a blow, but my parents took that in stride. They said they were proud of me. They assumed I wanted to move on to bigger and better things than sports.

Maybe 'drawing' wasn't exactly what they had in mind.

Really, I still have no clue where I got that crazy idea. It actually hit me late one night in July, right after... right after I'd finished jacking off.

Maybe it was the hormones or something. I was cleaning up with the tissue into which I'd just blown a particularly good load, and I just... stopped, and flicked one ear.

I could draw stuff.

I crumpled up the tissue, still panting a bit. The sound meshed with the annoying whine of my ceiling fan, the only thing keeping the attic room cool at night, to form the symphony of summer as I knew it. Hot, sticky air, creaking fan blades, and the smell of my own musk.

The idea didn't fail the immediate 'Hell no?' test, so I gave it a bit of consideration. I decided I could probably tolerate drawing things for a living, shrugged, and stuffed my cock back into my comfy short-legged boxer briefs. The sexy kind, right? Something like that.

Er, sorry if that was all TMI. I'm a healthy young man and all. The point is, wherever it came from, I spent about ten seconds thinking about it... and it was decided.

Clearly, I didn't think it through very well, because when I suggested it to my parents the next day... well. They didn't exactly tell me I was crazy. But, they basically told me I was crazy.

And boy, that first semester, once I was on campus and had changed those dumb classes and was actually drawing stuff... I thought I was pretty crazy too. Along with my instructors, and most of my classmates. Must have been pretty funny, seeing a six-foot-five fox who was built like a dump truck, perched on an art stool, scrawling these horribly inaccurate renditions of bottles and plaster models of paws.

But you can do anything, if you put your mind to it. And I did put my mind to it. It wasn't like I had anything else to do, now that football was a distant (and still bewilderingly unpleasant) memory. I just went to the art building and drew. All the time. Constantly. Whenever I could find an empty studio. I didn't even work out like I used to, and I'm not proud to say that between stopping that and stopping football I started to show those cheeseburgers I did not stop scarfing down.

I passed that first semester with a low C average. The next, I got a B. That summer, in that extra studio I took for practice, another solid B.

That fall, I managed a good, high B... and without slaving my ass off, actually spending some time jogging and weightlifting instead of drawing until my paws bled. I wasn't in the kind of shape I was in back in high school, but I was doing well enough. Something about being in great condition for so long, is it really starts to matter to you.

And I was a fairly decent artist. Not excellent. But I could put out average-quality work, if I tried really hard. I was getting better.

Maybe it wasn't such a crazy idea after all...

---

It was an unseasonably warm Tuesday for February, and I'd wandered toward the art building at about ten-thirty, wearing only a jacket instead of my heavy stuff. My ears got a little cold along the way, but they were always cold, seriously.

I still got a few weird looks whenever I went in there. I wasn't the only fox by any means, but all the others were little guys and short vixens, whereas I towered over the crowd and carved a path through it easily. You just didn't see guys like me in the art department.

So yeah, I got looks. But at least I was confident in my skills now, and it seemed to me that was evident to other people, too.

I wasn't sure about this figure drawing class. I'd turned in the first project apprehensively last Thursday; I didn't think it was that good, but I'd given it my best shot. Drawing people is hard. Especially because, unlike the still-lives I'd done in previous classes, I couldn't work on my stuff outside of class very well any more. The model was in for the class period, and that was it. I finished some stuff up out of class, but it was hard without a reference.

Boobies are hard to draw.

There, I said it. I had the damndest time with that donkey girl's boobs. I'm not exactly an expert on boob size, but they were fairly big, and typically pretty perky while she was modeling. The studio was always cold, it must have sucked to sit nude in it for hours at a time.

You probably think some other stuff was hard for me, about drawing that girl. Melanie, I think her name was. I sure spent a lot of time staring at her rack, with my brow furrowed.

I'm really not much of a boob guy.

Hell, who am I kidding, I'm not much of a pussy guy either.

Either way, the first couple sessions with her made me blush a bit, but they didn't cause any awkward problems. An art model is just an art model. It's not like looking at porn or something, it's much more aesthetic.

Before you crack jokes, no, it was not the first time I'd seen a naked woman in real life.

So anyway. I was walking to class on Tuesday. It was kinda early. I thought about grabbing something to eat first. A cheeseburger sure sounded good right about then.

I decided against it, though, and just headed to class early. Did some warmup sketches in the empty studio, looking at myself in one of the mirrors along the wall. Yeah, I draw myself. It's vain, but it's good practice.

And since I was there early, I was there when my instructor came in. A nice old mutt with glasses and a goatee. Short little guy, he always squinted up at me and laughed, whenever I came up to him.

He wasn't alone, either. He came in with another student, a scrawny little leopard guy, also with glasses. In fact, the two were a lot alike, barring their clear age difference and species. And clothing, I guess; the leopard was wearing a hoodie and jeans. He was a little nerdy-looking, really, but he was pretty animated, had a big grin on his face all the time.

They were talking, and didn't pay much attention to me; a moment later they went into the back room, and a bit after my instructor came out alone and started setting up the modeling stand. I didn't pay all that much attention, honestly. Just kept up sketching myself. Bit boring, but practice and all. I was such a hardass about practicing back then, I must have single-pawedly kept the bookstore's art supply shop in business for those four years I was there.

The rest of the class began to filter in. People chatted. My instructor answered a few questions. Nobody really talked to me. Not really unusual; I'm kind of quiet... and I guess I'm kind of intimidating, so I don't usually make a lot of friends in classes. It's okay, though.

Eventually, everybody settled down, and the instructor spoke.

"So, we're going to start on our next project today, guys, same as the last one. Some gesture drawing, some more finished stuff, due in about three weeks. Should be on the website, along with some examples you can look at. And, of course, we have a new model for this one." Nothing unexpected. I sighed a little to myself. More boob practice, at least. Practice, practice, practice. I'd be an expert on boobies by the end of this.

"I guess we'll get started, then, if there are no questions. I'll let you introduce yourself," he said, stepping back a little; from behind him, someone else walked out toward the center of the room, wearing the white bathrobe that models always donned between poses for modesty.

Melanie had been a little shy, but this model was confident.

"Hi, folks, my name's Jesse, I'm a computer science major, heh. So, uh, I can't see real good without my glasses, so if I do something dumb or move, just be really specific when you tell me to fix it."

"And you've been modeling for this class for several semesters, right?"

"Yup!" The leopard nodded, grinning.

"Great, so you should be a pro by now. We'll just start with some one and two minute poses and work our way up, then; I'll let you do the posing." The instructor gestured. "Whenever you're ready."

The little guy pulled off his robe and tossed it over the modeling stand, so that it draped over the sides. It wasn't even a nonchalant gesture, nothing affected or 'cool' about it. He just did it. Just took the robe off. And then hopped up onto the stand, extending one leg slightly, twisting his torso, swinging his tail up. One paw rested on his hip, the other grasped his opposite forearm.

And everybody started their gesture-drawing.

Meanwhile, I was way back on "Hi, folks...".

I literally hadn't heard a single word after that. And now there was this short, skinny leopard standing nude in front of me, and holy shit, no, Holy Shit, he had the most incredible body I had ever seen.

What kind of a computer scientist is built like that?!

Okay, so he was pretty scrawny. Not muscular or anything. But he was so... balanced. Just a little bit of muscle, and just a little bit of fat, and so damn proportionate, all these slight curves and obtuse angles.

"Change!"

Now he was sitting, one footpaw on the stand, the other on the ground, one arm around his raised leg, pressing it to his chest. You could see a little of his pecs, really, and there was the faintest hint of abdominals under there somewhere. He was anything but muscular, it was probably just that he was skinny. But geez. Geez.

He looked... different, without his glasses. His slightly longer bangs curved over his forehead springily; they swished when he turned his head. His little ears twitched occasionally.

And the spots. Oh gosh I haven't even mentioned the spots yet. Little black flecks, all down all over all everywhere, neck face paws back legs chest tummy, making those little circles on his back and those blobs on the whiter fur on his chest, growing smaller toward his head and larger on his thighs and tail, so many spots. It was riveting; I could have stared at them for hours, tracing the lines between them with my eyes... longing to reach out and draw one finger from one to the next, along his lithe form.

"Change!"

It's so hard to express all the things. All the stuff that went through my head at once. It's going to take a while longer to get through it all, but all of this was hitting me at once. Pummeling me.

Now he was standing again, one arm curved back so his paw was on his shoulder, the other resting against his thigh. He twisted the other way. His tail was flicking a little as it stuck out behind him.

What a nice rump. I mean geez. How do you get that sitting in front of a computer?

I could see the curve of his spine, the little bumps of his vertebrae. The outline of his shoulderblades, the silhouette of his oblong ears. He was all rectangles with curved sides. Blocky, yet smooth and organic. Little guy; he'd probably come up to my collarbones. Barely. I could have bench-pressed him easy. I could have thrown him fifty yards. He didn't look like he'd break in half like a toothpick... but he'd at least bend squishily. Like, uh, I don't know, a string cheese stick. Or something. This is why I'm not an english major. What I'm trying to say is he was too... flexible, too sinuous, too dexterous, to break, but he looked about as tough as you'd expect, for a little nerdy guy. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

God, that fluffy fur... It was surprisingly long in places, like the center of his chest; there was a little tuft that was adorable. And the base of his tail. It wasn't evident, there, except for how it hung down shaggily on the sides; when he lifted his tail a bit you could see the fan of fluff between his tailbase and his buttcheeks.

Oh geeeeeez that butt. It wasn't a Booty. It was little and perky. It was gropable, not sizable. It was smackable. Hell, it was probably lickable and fuckable, too, while we're heading that direction.

"Change!"

Now he was sitting again, and he was facing me. Well, kinda. He was twisted, right paw about a foot to the left of his legs, looking to his side and leaning over. But his hips were oriented toward me, and I was staring right at that little cat's sheath.

I don't want to insult him or something. It was nice. He had a nice sheath. It was just... well, he wasn't really equipped to be a pornstar or anything. Which, there's no reason he should be, of course, I'm not saying that, they always pick these huge dobermans with sheaths you could hide an umbrella in for that crap, it's so unrealistic. He was just... average. A little, slightly wrinkly tube of short-furred skin, pulled up toward his belly by an elastic 'bridge' of the same. He had a little bit of longer fuzz right below the opening; it was adorable. The fur around it was kinda long, but his balls stuck out from below it, just visible, covered only in very short fluff. They were pretty average too. I mean, as best I can judge on stuff like that; I didn't exactly have calipers and a clipboard. He looked... uh, cold, I guess. His balls were pulled up kinda, I mean, not hanging loose.

I had the most ridiculous boner over that little leopard. I'm serious. You could have used my dick to scrape the ice off your windshield. You could have bored holes for fenceposts. If I'd laid down on my stomach, it probably would have supported my weight, and I could have just hovered there while gawking at that impossibly fine body. Could've chiseled rock with that thing.

A computer scientist.

I was precumming. That's how bad it was. I never pre until I'm halfway through pawing, the first several minutes are totally dry, then I start to drip a bit, then a bit more, then I cum. If I'm trying to get done fast, sometimes I barely make any at all. But I was going strong right now; I could feel it dripping down my shaft. My balls felt sticky and wet. My underwear was even worse; I was actually a little worried it was going to get my jeans kind of damp.

"Change!"

I drew in a shuddering breath. My knot was all swelled up and it kinda hurt. That's what drew me back to the moment. It was sort of a combination of blue balls and how I was sitting; I adjusted myself a little so that the crotch of my jeans wasn't quite so tight. What the hell was I doing? I'd missed, like, five sketches. Had to concentrate.

God I was so fucking hard. It was actually pretty tough to keep from moaning a little bit.

I gulped, and felt slightly guilty. I mean, he was an art model, not a pinup. He was doing this so we could learn figure drawing, and here I was with the washington monument in my pants, staring at him and drawing nothing but those lines between his spots with my eyes. He probably didn't want to be stared at like that.

He probably didn't want to be stared at by a guy, either.

I glanced around a little. Fortunately, everyone was very much engrossed in learning the unfamiliar contours and features of a new model, our instructor included - he always liked to draw along with us, which was nice; made him feel a bit less preachy when he pointed out all the ways your drawing was shitty. If anyone noticed me sitting there gawking and not drawing, they kept really quiet about it.

As for Jesse, he was acting like we weren't there. I guess that was how he did his confident thing. Just a little feline guy posing for himself in the mirror, smiling a little as he admired his slender figure and shining fur and sexy, sexy sheath. 'I'm so steaming,' his smirk seemed to say. 'Such a fucking hottie.' But that sounds bad too. It wasn't like he was conceited. Just... pleased. He'd apparently done this several times before; he must enjoy getting up in front of people and showing off his goods.

And with a body like that, I couldn't blame him. I was enjoying it pretty well myself.

"Change!"

Geez, Paul, get ahold of yourself. With a massive mental effort, I put my pencil to the paper, furrowed my brow, and struggled to draw this little fucker. Cocktease. No, that was mean, I didn't want to be mean to him, not even in my head. He was so cute. Still, he was teasing my cock pretty well, so I guess it was fair.

I tried really hard to concentrate on something that wasn't really hard... but it turned out that drawing him was really hard as well. Every little error I made seemed to stand out to a thousand times the prominence. And I made a lot of little errors, I was finding. Even when gesture drawing, which is all about proportion and relation and movement and intuition.

My intuition held that this guy was not for drawing, and if I wasn't going to jump up and fuck him on the modeling stand I better start pawing off like I'd never get to do it again. Use that paper to catch my jizz or something. Hell, I probably would have shot clean over the easel holding my sketchpad, with how excited I was.

It made me more and more embarrassed, really. I felt really bad for getting so turned on. I wanted to be a good artist, and he wanted to get paid the big bucks for doing nude modeling, and neither of us were being helped by my perverted gawking that was threatening to give me repetitive eyestrain if I didn't cut it out. I mean, they tell you to look at the subject, not your paper, but this was getting pretty ridiculous.

Nudity in art isn't supposed to be sexual. Except when it is, but this was not one of those times, dammit.

"Change!"

Fuck. That wasn't even a passable attempt at a gesture drawing. I tore the sheet off angrily, making a couple people glance at me curiously.

"Five minutes this time, guys," the instructor said.

So much for warmup. All I'd managed to do was warm my cock up. As if it needed that.

I was so pissed at myself by then that I actually started to calm down. I just sat there fuming and lashing my tail and drawing this cute leopard boy and trying my damndest to get his fucking hips right - they stuck out bonily just like that, no, like that, no... and that damn tail, the way it thickened and flowed both into his back and his ass at once, those spots those spots all those little spots.

I was so frustrated that before I knew it, we were on the next five-minute pose, and then the next, and each one of my drawings was angrily ripped off and tossed on the stack next to my portfolio. I wasn't getting him right and it was killing me.

I was never going to get this stupid guy right. He was too...

...perfect.

Not some greek statue. Not some male supermodel. Not even that friend everyone has who's so far out of your league you don't even bother.

Just... average. The perfect example of how normal could be beautiful.

Before you crack jokes... No. It was not the first time I'd seen a naked man in real life.

I did football, remember? And I kept my eyes to myself as much as possible. When you're discovering you like wanking to thoughts of rimming and ramming with big muscular men, you get pretty respectful of other guys' privacy in the locker room. More for your own sake than theirs.

I didn't really know I was gay, though, back in that locker room. I knew I was... confused. I knew guys were sexy. I wasn't sure how I felt about girls. I didn't feel, I didn't believe, that I was honestly not interested in girls at all and honestly completely interested in manflesh.

But geez, when I was staring at Jesse The Computer Scientist's sheath, I fucking believed it. I would have stood up and sung, 'Glory Hallelujah, Paul Harrison is a Giant Faggot!' I was sold. I was so completely there I bet there were rainbows shooting out of my ears and bouncing around the art studio. If thinking this little leopard guy was sexy, and ladies were simply not, in comparison... if that made me queer, then sign me up for the next pride parade. And I want my complementary rainbow shawl and bottle of hairspray, dammit, because I thought this Jesse guy was the finest piece of fur that had ever graced my humble eyes.

I'm not stereotypical. Seriously. I'm a six-foot-five ex-football player who shops at K-Mart and owns an early nineties Chevy S10. I keep my headfur in a crew cut and you will never catch me filing my claws. About the only thing about me that's even slightly un-masculine is my major, and let me tell ya, for a bunch of supposed queers, the guys in the art department sure boast about an unusual amount of straight sex. There are chaster men in the frats.

But I swear, I didn't give one fuck about stereotypes that day. I would swish my tail as much as I liked, if that's what a guy who liked Jesse Whatever-his-surname-was was supposed to do. I would've swished that fucker like it was on fire.

Yeah. I was pretty distracted that studio, I won't lie. My brain was just running through all these lewd sexual acts; I didn't give a damn what I did with that leopard so long as it involved me and him and our throbbing dicks and some loud moaning. Heck, you could throw some cheeseburgers in there, too, and I'd still be down for it. It was bad.

I managed to survive that studio without rupturing anything thinking about leopard sex. I also managed not to stab my pencil through the entire sketchpad, so frustrated was I with my crappy renditions of his body. A couple breaks (seeing that body under the terricloth robe again was really depressing) and a couple longer drawings later, and we were done. People were leaving. Jesse was in the back room, probably putting his clothes back on.

A fucking hoodie and jeans. And glasses! Covering... that. I stared at my paper; I wasn't happy with my last drawing either, but I'd at least figured out his hips, and had sketched the rough impression of his sheath with a bit of a blush. It poked out in such a cute way, when he sat facing to one side of me.

I wanted to suck on it.

Among other things.

A little dazed, I packed up my stuff, moving pretty slowly, kind of awkward due to the sloppy crotch of my boxer-briefs. I didn't have class for another two hours, but I knew I was going to be out of it all day. So out of it. The only thing to do was to go back to my dorm and masturbate harder than I had ever done in my life, and then curl up in bed and wait for tomorrow.

And maybe masturbate a couple more times.

It was stupid, and I felt guilty, but I was so past caring by that point that I was just tired. He'd just blown my mind right out of my skull. That stupid little computer science student who even now was standing talking to the instructor, grinning, glasses back on his face and clothes back over his body. I couldn't help staring at his crotch a little bit, like a real pervert, because I knew what he looked like under those jeans. I was sick.

It was over. I should just go home.

And that's when I did something dumb.

"Uh... hi."

He grinned at me, all earflicky and chipper. "Heheh, hey there."

"W... what's your name again?"

"Oh, uh, it's Jesse. Just an 'e' at the end, no 'i'."

"Right." I scribbled it on my drawing. "I like getting models' names on my sketches so I don't forget them."

He grinned big. "Uh-huh!"

I scratched at the back of my neck.

"Uh... thanks for being here."

"Oh, sure thing!"

"You're... you're a really good model." I was blushing so hard by that point that I'm positive he could see it.

He was smiling at me still. "Thanks, heh. I had fun. I like modeling." He hesitated. "What's your name?"

"Paul..." I mumbled.

"What's that?"

"...It's Paul..." Suddenly I felt disgusting. Like something dragged in from the gutter. Sludge. Rubbish. Junk.

Pervert.

"Well, nice to meet you, Paul," he said, giving me a little pat on the elbow. I wonder if he noticed how low my tail was. Maybe he just thought that was my default. Paul Floppytail. "I have to run, I have a class soon. But hey, I guess I'll see you on Thursday, right?"

More like I'd see him.

"Right."

"And maybe we'll run into each other somewhere else too." He smiled at me. "Well, see ya."

"See ya," I murmured.

He left, and I packed up. Deposited my stuff in my locker. Headed home.

Came five times before supper.

Skipped class. I was a mess.

The rest of the day was a total waste. I didn't get anything done. Didn't even take a shower or brush my teeth before bed, just fell asleep on my still-upright futon after number seven. My dick was constantly aching by that point, not used to that amount of abuse, but I was so horny I didn't care. So horny it didn't matter.

I woke up the next morning feeling like shit both emotionally and physically. Slapped on some deodorant. Dragged myself to my second class. Didn't even care that I'd slept through the first. I felt like someone had been beating me with a shovel. And had landed a couple really good whacks to my balls while they were at it. I sure wasn't up for jerking it by that point, that was for sure. No more orgasms for Paul for a little while, even if Jesse did have the most fuckable little ass and suckable furry sheath this side of campus.

I still felt like trash. Who looks at an art model as if he was a piece of meat? Porn? Jesse was a friendly little guy who liked getting paid twenty bucks an hour to stand there wearing a smile. Not some slut rubbing his face all over three dude's cocks on PornograFur.com, like that video I tried to watch to get him out of my head.

It didn't work, if you were wondering. I ended up just imagining myself rubbing my face all over three Jesse-clone-cocks. Some hesitant googling on what exactly a leopard's penis looked like did not help with that part.

God, he'd think I was so creepy if he knew what I'd done in the past twenty-four hours. Paul Harrison didn't want to be creepy.

And thus, Wednesday came and went. I came too, only twice, though. Still kinda sore from my marathon the day before.

And Thursday we were back at it. One hulking fox sat in the corner, ears flicked back against his skull, trying to draw that little feline guy right and trying to ignore the enormous boner crammed in his pants. I got better at it. At him. Dealing with him being in the room. Also drawing him.

I liked drawing him. He was so fucking pretty. I just wished I could get him right. The hell do they feed them in computer science? Where does that come from?

Friday. I hung around my dorm a lot and sat on my futon with my jacket around me, my arms not in its arms. I felt kinda sick. But not like I had an illness. Just... miserable and lethargic and stupid. Didn't even jack off. What was the point? A couple of squirts of semen and a rush of hormones, because I felt dumb things about a dumb leopard with his dumb sexy ass.

I slept for eleven hours that night. Woke up Saturday. Lazed around in bed. Dozed a little more. Got up. Lay around on my futon. Did a bit of homework. Ate something, just for the hell of it. It was a cheeseburger, of course.

Took a nap. I wasn't tired, I just didn't want to think anymore.

When I woke up, it was dark, and I decided, fuck it all, I was going to pull myself together.

---

The metal door slammed behind me, and I was pacing down the sidewalk. It was cold. Coat weather for sure. I was wearing mine, and had my hat pulled down over my sensitive ears, but I wished I'd brought a scarf, too.

It was quiet. I didn't know what time it was. Didn't care to know. Not many people were out. It was well after sunset, at least. There was nobody about on campus. I paced between solitary lamps, crunching packed snow under my footpaws and watching feral raccoons skitter across the sidewalks.

Every campus has its quadrangle, or green space, or whatever it's called. Ours was big and had tall stands of pine trees on the north end, bordering a small lake. Not the kind you'd want to swim in, especially not in February. Hell, most years you could ice-skate on it safely for at least a little while.

Not today, though; it was iced over, but there was a large thin patch that looked wet and soggy. I sat down on a bench across from it, a few dozen yards from the engineering building.

Stupid.

I buried my paws in my pockets and wished I had mittens. Shivered a little, and swallowed.

Stupid.

It was dark, but the moonlight reflected off the frozen lake. Tall, looming, ominous trees surrounded me on all sides, me on my little bench huddled up in the cold, tail curled around my legs to keep it out of the snow. I've always been kind of scared of the dark. I'm a big guy. Ex-football player. I'm not a pussy, I'll walk into the damn scary dark forest if I have to.

It's just scary.

...Stupid.

I sat there for a long time, growing progressively and thoroughly cold. You stop moving and you stop making heat for your coat to keep in. I didn't give a damn, though. I couldn't even think, or feel, or anything. My brain was just... cold. I hated the state I was in, the way one dislikes being chilled. And like chill, there wasn't anything I could do about it. You can't think your way into warmth. If you're in a cold place, you have one choice: Be cold.

Perky nipples and wrinkled scrota.

Art.

All kind of a joke for Paul Harrison, The Big Dumb Fox. One last thing to try to be good at, after he'd sucked at everything else.

Well, except football.

Running around a big square of green stuff with white streaks across it. A bunch of guys in tight pants. Guys with really nice butts. Guys who all showered together and tackled each other and tried to get their paws on a ball.

Who the hell decided football was such a macho sport, anyway? Sounds pretty gay, when you think about it. Unlike competitive ice-skating or something, I thought, as I surveyed the frozen lake in front of me. Slinky guys lifting up tiny girls by their thighs and sticking cold noses under their skirts. How was that supposed to be gayer than football?!

I couldn't ever take football seriously, either. Always being the big damn hero. Wide receiver. What the hell kind of position was that?

Geez, even the positions sounded gay. Wide receiver. Heheh. I chuckled a little to myself, but I wasn't smiling.

And now this fox jock was trying to be all sensitive and artistic and creative. And I couldn't do that either. Couldn't look at a damn model without wanting to bang him. Mature audience with no maturity.

My ears squirmed under my hat, trying to press themselves down and back, as I sat there moping.

At long last, I sighed. This was dumb. What was I doing out here?

I stood up. Stretched. Shivered. Checked my phone. It was almost eleven.

I started walking back...

...And that's when I noticed I wasn't alone.

Way down the bank. Right at the other end of the lake. It was hard to see. But someone was definitely sitting on that bench.

You already know who it was. This is just too fucking perfect for it to happen any other way. Right when I start being practical again, life shits in my face. Or something. Words. I should have gotten an english major to write this for me.

I went closer because I had to. I mean, hell, it's not like people weren't allowed to sit out here and freeze their balls off if they wanted. But I had to know. The state I was in... I had to know.

I didn't recognize him until he heard me and turned around. "Oh. Hi, there, Paul."

I gulped. Came a little closer. Of course. Just fucking great. "Hello."

"You're out late, too!" He chuckled a little.

Spots.

"I was just finishing up a project over in the CS department. Came walking back past the lake and it was really pretty, so I decided to sit here for a bit."

He thought it was pretty.

"You wanna come sit here with me?"

I walked around the bench and sat down next to him. He was sitting in the middle of the bench, so we were kind of close, though not touching. He didn't scoot over.

He sighed, sticking his paws behind his neck and stretching. "You know, sometimes I envy you guys."

"Huh?"

"You art people. You see something like this..." He gestured at the shimmering ice, the dark pine trees. "...and you think 'I want to make that'. Because you can. You know you can." He grimaced a bit. "People like me... we know we can never make something that beautiful. So we just admire it, and then move on. Forget about it."

"Heh." Spots against the snow.

"I wish I could make that." He surveyed the lake. "I would... I would paint it, I think. All dark blues and grays, and this almost blinding bluish white for the ice. And I'd call it... 'Moonlight,' or something." He chuckled. Adjusted his glasses. Paused. "I probably sound like an idiot."

It was the darkest, most cynical thing I ever heard him say, before or since.

"N-no! No, you don't at all, you sound..." The words sprung out of me before I knew how I was going to finish them. "...emphatic, or emotional, or something... Feelings like that are why we do things, why we spend so much time on something so difficult and uncertain..."

"Hm," the little feline responded. He seemed to like that. We sat quietly next to each other.

Spots in the moonlight.

I wanted to tell him.

I wanted to tell him how beautiful he was to me. How attractive. How alluring. How I didn't think I'd ever be able to 'make' him, not if I spent years grinding my pencils to nubs.

There's stuff you can't say, though. There are feelings that don't have words connected to them.

There are times that you just don't want to play football anymore.

I wanted to do something. I wanted to do a lot of stuff. I wanted to tell him how I felt, in all its creepy detail. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to become a great artist. I wanted to eat a cheeseburger. I wanted to watch him have an orgasm. I wanted to go home and sleep even more. I wanted to find a toothbrush that didn't start losing its bristles after a few months. I wanted to lose my virginity. I wanted to find some way to balance school, and life... and me.

I wanted to know who I was.

I wanted to be his friend.

It was stupid. All kinds of stupid. I was emotional and irrational and it was one of the stupider things I'd ever done. But I started feeling so confused and desperate... that I just reached out and grabbed his paw.

I squeezed my eyes shut, as though I'd just pulled the pin on a grenade. It must have come out of nowhere. I have no idea how he reacted, really, I wasn't paying attention. I didn't want to know how he would react. But I could feel him looking at me, as I sat there and cowered like a little bitch and held onto his paw like a big fucking idiot.

Seconds became minutes. Eventually, I opened my eyes again. I was too scared to look at him. Maybe it was the dark forest or something.

Yeah, we'll go with that. I was scared of the dark, and that's why I grabbed his paw. The lesser of two shames.

Geez.

Jesse didn't pull his paw away. He just let me hold it. Just let me sit there and hold his paw. I was blushing so damn hard. At least he wasn't naked, or I would have had the boner of the century, too.

It was easier to talk to the lake.

"I... think... you're..." I managed, through gritted teeth. "...the, the most... most pretty guy I've... I've ever seen."

Stupid.

"And I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me, but I just... I can't stop thinking about you, you're just... You're so..."

I fell silent, quivering, cursing myself internally. That was it. I was done.

It was about five minutes before he said anything. Seriously. Break out the stopwatch. The whole time I couldn't look at him and could feel him looking at me and I just stared at the lake like I'd stared at him on Tuesday. And refused to let go of his paw. You couldn't've made me let go. Not for all the cheeseburgers in the world.

"Well, gee, Paul," he said, eventually. "Th... thank you."

For some reason, that hesitant reply produced a surge of embarrassment. "S-sorry," I stammered, gulping.

"Hehheh, don't apologize," he said, more easily. "That was... so sweet of you to say."

"I mean it..." I looked at him, then, defiantly. I might have been a little bitch, but I was an honest little bitch; he better...

"I believe you." He was smiling a little bit, but seemed faintly... sad.

The pit of my stomach dropped out. "You're straight. Aren't you?" Let's just get that out there real quick.

He opened his mouth. Hesitated. Tilted his head. Flicked one ear. The silence stretched on and on.

"Actually, I'm... not," he said, voice low and rumbling.

I blinked stoically.

"I've never told anyone that before..." he breathed softly, looking away.

"No one?"

"No one." He was still, and then looked up and smiled at me. "It feels... good. Just to... get it off my chest. I'm... gay. I really am gay."

I nodded silently. I could imagine how it must feel.

"How about you?" he asked. We were still holding paws. It helped me get through it, for sure.

I gulped. "I... I guess I am, too..." I gave a little bashful smile that felt stupid even as I made it. "I... I wasn't sure until I met you..."

Had to quit with that damn stammering. I wasn't cold at all any more, so hard was I blushing.

"Heheh, heh." He grinned slowly at me. "Makes me feel pretty good about my job."

"You're a good model," I said, almost normally. I even cracked a grin to match his.

Wow this whole thing was stupid. We were both so stupid.

I was starting to think... that I kinda liked it.

"Hehehe. Th-thanks... I like doing it..." he said, smiling big. "It's fun, to feel like... like people think I'm sexy..."

God, as if he needed to stand on a table for that. It was harder to see, with the bulky clothes and the glasses, but it was definitely there. Not that I don't like glasses; just... they're hard to see past, they dominate a face, they're like a fence. You take 'em off, you look behind the fence... there are all these subtle things that hide back there, pushed into the background. Details.

Our pawhold was pretty tight. He was wearing gloves, I wasn't, so my paw was pretty cold, too. I didn't know what to say to him next. It was quiet.

"Um... would it be okay if we... maybe kissed a bit?" he said, in a small voice.

I blinked. "You're... asking because..."

He shrugged, embarrassed. "Because... because I've always wanted to kiss a boy, but I don't really know how, and you seem really nice, but I'm not sure if you want to do that with me... so I asked."

He wasn't sure if I wanted...

To be entirely fair, I didn't have any practice with it either, so he was probably asking the wrong guy to tell him how, but I wasn't about to say that to him. If Jesse wanted someone to show him how to kiss, Paul Harrison was going to show him how to fucking kiss.

I started by reaching out and taking him by the shoulders, so that he was looking up at me, close, huffing his kitty breath in my foxy face. Little guy, kinda nerdy-looking with those square glasses. Cute. Really cute. Even when you couldn't see his sinfully well-formed body.

Then, I put my face close to his, muzzle alongside his. I nuzzled him a little bit. He liked that. I could feel him smiling. Could hear the purr that rumbled through his chest.

My lips brushed his.

He stopped purring. A slight cold gust passed my face, as he inhaled. He sat there, leaning forward. Yearning. I could feel him trembling under my paws.

I pressed my mouth against his, softly. And we shared our first kiss.

Kissing is nice. Let me just put that out there. That was my first impression of it, in case you ever need an unbiased opinion.

I wasn't brave enough to do the tongue thing. Not the first few times, at least. I kept my mouth closed and he did the same, and we kissed again and again. And it was great.

It was just great.

I tried to keep breathing. Steeled myself. Gathered my courage.

Did the tongue thing.

He made a little noise as I started opening my mouth, as I angled my muzzle so it could mesh with his. He knew what I was doing. His jaw went all slack and he was all still, paws up against my chest, leaning into me, willing it to happen.

I felt all shy and stupid. I just kind of... stuck my tongue into his mouth. Poke. Hi, Jesse. I'm Paul's tongue. For about a second and a half, it felt ridiculous.

Then, it suddenly became incredibly hot, and bam. We were salivating, and pawing at each other, and kissing with a passion I had never dreamed existed. His tongue and my tongue were the combatants in a bitter power struggle over the adjoining territories of our mouths. It was war, and it was brutal, and it was also very, very exciting. Whichever way the battle went, we were both always on the winning side.

We kissed for a good, long period. It slowly devolved into just gentle nuzzling and licking. I held him close, like a teddy bear, and we sat there by the lake and made out. Tenderly. Affectionately. He felt so small against me. My tail was waving around happily; behind him, I could catch glimpses of his doing the same.

After what felt like a long time, we were holding each other, breathing in each other's faces.

"I want to have sex with you," I said, blunt, honest, literal. No point hiding that from him now. I didn't care what we did together. Me, him, throbbing dicks, and all that.

He smiled at that. "I think I'd be all right with that, you foxy stud, you..." he rumbled.

Stud, eh?

"Stud, eh?" I chuckled a bit.

"You look like you stepped out of a home fitness commercial," he joked.

"I think I'd be better in a cheeseburger commercial," I murmured.

Have I mentioned yet, that I like cheeseburgers?

"Heheheh." He gave my belly a poke. I no longer looked like I spent all my time stuffing my face with fast food; that had been a brief and embarrassing period in my freshman year only. But I still had a bit of squish atop my abs, and in other places too. Butt and thighs and stuff. Just made me look even more hulky and imposing than I did before, I guess. "You're a total stud. A complete hunk. What's a big guy like you doing in the art department, anyway?"

"Drawing you," I replied cheekily.

He giggled at that. And kissed me again. And it was nice.

"Let's go back to your dorm," he whispered. "Unless your roommate's asleep."

"Don't have one," I said, smiling slowly. "Single dorm."

He smiled back. "I see."

---

It was twelve-ish, on a Saturday night. Well, Sunday morning, actually. Why does the day change at midnight? Why doesn't it change at, like, four in the morning, or some time when pretty much everyone is asleep? People are up at midnight all the time.

I'm not going to skip to the sex. Skipping to that would mean skipping over the part that was the most meaningful, the most memorable. I'm going to start from the moment the door opened.

I stepped in first. It was my room and all. The lights flicked on, revealing a slightly messy room with a bed, a dresser, a desk, a futon. Average and unassuming. Could have been anyone's dorm, anyone's clothes, anyone's laptop and backpack and microwave.

He edged in behind me. I shut the door and locked it, and sat down on my futon; he quickly came over to sit next to me, pressing his body against mine from the side.

Cuddly.

I felt all strange, all of a sudden. Like I was being ruled by forces beyond my control. I was just Paul, he was just Jesse, just two fuzzy guys who happened to go to the same college. People.

And, totally separate... the feelings that had been tormenting me for the past few days. An opaque, oblique unit, tangential to whoever I was, he was, we were. Totally separate, his behavior: whatever had escaped from him as we sat beside the lake and I shivered and held his paw like a big dumbass.

One moment, hm. The next, cuddly.

It was all strange. What a strange occurrence, that these two people should be here in this room tonight. How odd, that they should be cuddling.

We kissed some more, naturally. He giggled. I laughed a bit too. I pulled him down on top of me, and he lay on my chest as I crammed myself comfortably into the corner of the futon. And we kissed, but it faded out slowly, and soon we were just lying there breathing. His head rested against my chest; his arms wrapped around me.

I wondered if he was sleepy. His eyes were certainly still open.

I just kept my arms around him and was content to do whatever he wanted. And if that was 'just lay here together,' I was hardly objecting.

I thought about him some, of course. Mostly about the fact that he was a real, live guy and he actually had a penis, and he was actually laying on top of me right now. Some pants and (presumably) some underwear covering up that nice sheath I had seen... but nothing else. And no social restrictions preventing me from verifying his possession of said penis.

No personal objections either, if his earlier statement had been anything to go on.

It was a weird thought. That we could totally have sex right this instant if we wanted to. It could really seriously happen. We were two people with our own instincts and faculties and volitions, and we could totally just fuck each other silly and no one could stop us. Me and this guy, this one right here on top of me.

I wondered what he was thinking, lying on me like that, both of us all still. It seemed neither of us wanted to disturb this peaceful moment.

He was purring quietly and it was adorable.

I wondered if he had a boner right now, like I did. Two guys cuddling together on a futon, both with erections. It was such a personal, intimate feeling. Different, somehow, from the idea of doing anything with said boners. Sure, that would be great... but different. Sex was intense and deeply erotic. This was almost... friendly. A softer, gentler take on the eroticism which could exist between us.

It's not like we didn't have time to take it up a few notches. Tomorrow was Sunday, after all.

Today was Sunday. Four in the morning, I say.

It was a wonderful feeling, though. Thinking that I had nothing to do tomorrow, and that we had as much time as we needed. No obligations to distract us. I could just focus on him.

"You smell so good," he said, after a very long time.

I blinked and looked down at him; indeed, his little nose was pressed against my left pectoral, a bit inward of my nipple. I held him tighter.

I wondered if fucking him would help me draw him. I'd be more familiar with his body, right?

Sometimes I think the stupidest things. Seriously.

"I want to play with your tail," I said.

He smiled a little, and scooted up against me, so that his head went over my shoulder; he was straddling my stomach. "Then do it."

So I did. I caught that long, fuzzy snake that was lazily flicking through the air. And just played with it. Ran my paws over his spots.

I started doing the connect-the-dots thing, yeah. He noticed, and chuckled a bit.

"I love them," I murmured. "If all our models were leopards, I'd never get anything done..."

"Heheh. Is it spots, or just boys with spots?" he asked playfully.

I'd been hesitating, but right about then I got the balls to touch that shaggy part, on the underside of the base of his tail.

He reacted. His whole body shifted sinuously; he slid his arms up a little, paws on my shoulders. His mouth was by my ear, and I felt his breath catch. Heard him give a controlled exhalation. A silent moan. A long, whispered "...Ohhhhhhh..."

That bit of his tail was sensitive, it seemed. I wondered if I'd react the same way, if he did it to me. I didn't have an answer to that question. I don't play with my tail much... and I think part of it was the intimacy, of having someone else touch you there. Grabbing someone's tail is a bit rude... and touching the base is right about in line with groping the rest of someone's butt. Grounds for a good slapping... unless you're getting frisky. It's a personal area.

He shivered as I curled my paw around his tailbase, and rubbed that fluffy bit a little. The fur was quite long, there, but it was actually surprisingly sparse; I could feel his skin under it, warm and humid. I was about as close to fingering him as you can get, without being seriously erotic. It wasn't quite erotic. It was definitely extremely personal.

It was weird, to think that in studio I'd spent all that time staring right at something, that... If I were to touch... would make him go...

"Ah..." he breathed out. I was giving him a little tail massage, and he was loving it. I could feel his cock jabbing into my stomach, is how I knew. He seemed a little uncomfortable about that; he tried to adjust himself so it wasn't pressed against me so hard.

I tried not to think too much about that google search I'd done. Barbs, eh? It did feel a bit... poke-y.

My own cock twitched.

"Aa--engh..." he whined, as I squeezed a little.

I faltered. "Did that hurt?"

He shook his head firmly. "No, god no, it feels amazing..."

That made me smile. I kept going, though a little more gently even so. I didn't want to work him up, or anything, I just wanted to make him feel nice. He lay on top of me and breathed choppily as I stimulated that bunch of nerves at the base of his tail. I tried not to concentrate too much on his heartbeat. Which was much more noticeable, with a pulsing erection against my stomach. I wondered if this had ever occurred to nurses. Seemed a lot easier than jabbing your fingers into someone's neck or wrist, to me.

After I'd thoroughly worked him over, I finished with a nice scratch on the topside of his tail, digging my claws in and working up onto his lower back, under his t-shirt (skipping the waistband of his jeans that was in the way). He leaned into it, arching his butt up.

Spooooots.

I gave his butt a little grope when I was done. He chuckled, and rose to a half-kneeling position over me. He licked his lips, looking almost stoned. "I think I drooled on your futon a bit."

"That's okay," I murmured.

"Better than on you, right?"

I blinked. My eyes slitted a bit. "Well, perhaps, but you can do that all you like."

He giggled at that. "Oh!"

I kissed him again, just for the hell of it. I had to crane my neck up. When I broke away, he was giving me this funny look.

"What is it?" I inquired.

He swallowed, visibly.

"I... I wanna suck on your..."

Oh.

I'm sure I blushed, but I didn't really realize it. "Arright. We can do that." My cock jumped like an excitable puppy.

He sat back on the edge of the futon, and I sat up a little and inched my hips back. "Uh... do you wanna do... some other stuff, too?"

He was blushing and not looking at me, and I wasn't really sure what he was talking about -

Oh. That's what he was talking about.

"Uh... yeah, we can, if you... want..." I said, blushing a little myself. "Might be nice... and all..."

"Uh... do you have... stuff?"

I blinked. "Stuff?"

"Like... like condoms and stuff..." he muttered. His ears were dropped down and back in embarrassment.

Ah. That stuff.

"Oh. Yeah," I replied. "Yeah, got some. Just in case... well, in case of something like this, I guess..."

He chuckled. "Okay... good. I... I know I should probably have some, but I just haven't ever bought any..."

I gave him a little pat on the shoulder, and a smile. "Got us covered. Literally."

He giggled.

I hesitated. "Maybe we should..." I stood up, and padded over to my bed. Sure, the futon was great. But... I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to have sex in bed.

He followed. I sat down on the edge. He stood in front of me, and began taking his shirt off.

I caught his arm. "Let me..."

He smiled. "Okay..."

I pulled him closer, so that his knees leaned against the bed and he sort of knelt against it, and his mouth came down to meet mine.

Kissing someone while undressing them is nice. Unbiased opinion.

My paws slid up his fuzzy back, feeling those bumpy vertebrae I had once stared at. Scapulae that stuck out and cast odd shadows. The curve of those shoulders. My paws roved around, slid over the thick tufts of fur under his arms, found his pecs. He shivered as my digits rubbed over his nipples.

We broke the kiss for a brief instant, as he tugged his shirt over his head, and then he came at me again, eagerly, shirt still on his upper arms. I helped him get it the rest of the way off, our faces practically glued together.

Then he started working on my shirt.

I let him do his thing, while slowly unhitching his belt. Taking my time. Letting him catch up a bit. Unhook, unlace, unbutton. Unzip.

He had my shirt off, and we were kissing once more. I ran my paws over his ass, gave it a nice grope. Under his pants, this time. He was apparently the boxers type, or so I judged from the loose, warm fabric.

When he broke away to get my pants down, I saw that, more specifically, he was the black-and-yellow-plaid boxers type. Matched his fur. I liked the spots better, though.

Would it be silly for a leopard to wear leopard-print boxers? When I was a kid, I had some undies with little cartoon foxes on them...

I scooted back a little shyly as he tugged my pants down. Today was army green day in my underwear department. From the way he stared at that as he awkwardly pulled off my shoes, he must've liked the way my tighter boxer-briefs showed off my erection. I mean, he had a pretty nice tent going, but it just wasn't as defined. If you want a nice bulge, you have to wear something a bit tighter than boxers. Not that I'm an expert in bulges, or anything... what with the amount of time I've spent in locker rooms, over the years...

Pants and shoes successfully removed from me, he lingered a moment, giving me one more kiss, and then sat down beside me and removed his own jeans and sneakers. I put one arm around his slim shoulders, rubbing those spots a little with my paw.

"You ready to, uh... do somethin'?"

Jesse nodded a bit, giving me a shy smile. He took his glasses off, folded the earpieces, and set them on top of my dresser. He looked so pretty with his glasses off. Made me smile.

I was nervous. I can't lie. But I was also excited. Really, really excited.

We were sort of facing toward each other, so I was able to just... lean in, a bit. The motion brought our faces closer, so I kissed him again, but this time that wasn't my end goal, though it was a nice distraction. I just kind of kept leaning. More and more of his weight rested on the arm I had around his shoulders... and then he was lying down, angled a little awkwardly toward the pillow.

I clambered up onto my paws and knees. Licked the sides of his muzzle softly. He purred under me and licked back. He straightened himself out, pulling his legs up onto the bed.

I was kissing him more to distract myself, than to distract him. It was easier to do this without being crippled by nervousness, when my paws could just explore their way down his body, a secondary action to the oral passion we were engaged in.

Waistband. Boxers. Grope.

Cock.

Yup. I could feel the barbs now, through the thin cloth. Little pointy nubs, angled sort of backward. They weren't really sharp, just firm.

I rubbed them a bit through his boxers. He whined, wrapping his arms around my neck and kissing with sudden exuberance.

I rubbed a bit more. Experimenting. Yup. He definitely liked that.

Even distracted as I was, I was a bit nervous about the next part.

Waistband. Tug. Slip.

His hips rotated a bit downward, and his thighs spread a bit. He moaned a little. His skin was slippery and hot. The inside of his boxers was a little sticky. Mine were starting to get that way as well; I guess precum starts a bit sooner when you have a real, live guy on your paws.

Or your paws on a real, live guy.

He had a nice cock. It was quite tapered; the bit behind the head was noticeably skinnier. The head itself was kind of a bulge; the rim curved inward and didn't stand out from the shaft much, but in the middle it was fairly thick. And had those barbs, from a bit below the tip down to the edge; there were some a bit lower, as well, just under the head. They felt slightly rough under my pawpads, sort of a textured surface. Kind of like burlap, about that density of roughness, but much slicker. The tip was all sticky with precum. As for size, he felt quite familiar to me; not far off from what I normally had in my paw.

I discovered all this with my intrepid digits, progressively, as we continued to kiss. Eventually, he seemed to decide to get in on the fun; one of his paws left my neck, and a moment later I felt a paw curl around my knot. It was about half-swollen.

I almost yelped at the sudden contact. He ran his paw up the length of my boner, bent to the side in my underwear. Massaged it. Toyed with it. His other paw slid down my back, and a moment later both his paws slid over my ass. His thumbs wiggled under my waistband, and with a tug, my tail was forced downward, still caught in the hole in the back.

Then his paws really slid over my ass.

Another tug, in front this time, and my cock sprang out. My boxer-briefs were down on my thighs. My hips tweaked.

Wow, that felt good.

His paw slid slowly down my shaft, and curled around my knot, which was getting a bit bigger. He seemed fascinated by it; he felt all around the thing, slowly, proddingly, as we both remained pretty well occupied with permutative tongue-mashing and muzzle-shifting. Trying all the combinations. Several times, in some cases. His paws examined the three rough bulges of tissue that composed my knot, the bit of my shaft that stuck out of it, the narrow bridge behind it that was typically covered by the rim of my sheath.

He pulled away suddenly, giggling. "You dripped on me!"

I blinked, and looked down at my cock. As I watched, another glob of precum went driiiiip onto his belly. Thick and sticky, like glycerine or something.

I chuckled a bit. "Well, I've never had another guy wrap his paws around my cock like that. Outside the doctor's office, of course. It's pretty exciting."

He laughed. "Must be."

I gave the pointy end of his pecker a little rub with my thumb. It was quite slippery. "If you were on top, you'd be dripping on me."

He squirmed a bit. "Maaaay-be."

We just grinned at each other for a second, holding each other's cocks.

Gaaaaay.

His grin faded a bit, replaced by something more... intense. Something in his eyes. "Let's roll over."

I complied, flipping onto my back, and he crawled on top of me, and then backed down. My boxer-briefs were still around my thighs, and I had my legs half-bent. "Wanna get these off?" I asked; he was between my legs, complicating the procedure. I pulled my tail out of the tailhole with a flex.

Slowly, he shook his head, a little grin on his face. His head ducked down. Poked under the rear side of the waistband. And suddenly, a leopard was licking my balls.

I shivered. A lot. And moaned. It just came out of nowhere.

Lick. Lick.

Liiiiick.

I was breathing pretty hard. Good to keep doing that. It took a bit of effort, actually. He snuffled his nose through the longish fur in my crotch. I don't usually trim it; I'm lazy. And no one ever sees it anyway. I hadn't really expected... tonight.

He didn't seem to mind, though, from the way he was breathing in, deep. When was the last time I showered? Friday night, musta been. I was probably pretty musky by now.

His tongue moved up onto my sheath, where the fur was longer than on my balls. It became more like grooming, and like any feline would, he did an excellent job of that.

My cock was pretty pleased with the performance too. I panted, and dripped on myself, this time.

He was licking around the rim of my sheath; it was sensitive, it made my cock twitch and my legs shift. I opened my eyes (I hadn't realized I'd shut them) and looked down at him. His head was buried between my legs, ears and headfur sticking up into my underwear. He was gonna get precum in his fur, like that.

Oh shiii -

I gripped the sides of the bed and sucked in air as his tongue slid over my knot. He chuckled at my reaction, looking up at me. "Like that?"

"I..." I gasped at his next one, too. "...I..."

Liiiick.

I clenched my teeth. My dick strained. Precum dribbled out of the tip, ran down the topside. Not a single drip. A dribble.

He was licking his way up, now, playfully and teasingly, and I was probably having the time of my life. I moaned a lot, for sure, and held onto the bed like I was afraid I would fall off.

I would have expected his tongue to be kind of rough - he was a feline, after all - but it wasn't irritating at all; it was slippery and wonderful and felt like heaven. Every little lick he gave to the head of my dick made it twitch and leak precum. And yet, he seemed intent on continuing, intent on licking up every last bit of -

"Ohshitohshitohshit!" I sat up almost halfway, scooting my hips backward slightly in pure reflex.

He looked up at me, the lower half of my shaft connecting my sheath to his mouth. Like an obscene bridge. "Mmf?"

"Oh god..." I moaned. "Oh shit..."

I felt him smile around my cock. His tongue squirmed across the slightly concave region on the topside of my pointy head, and I whined softly. He slid down a bit more, and the feeling of the movement was incredible; his mouth was so warm and smooth and wet... His tongue curled and wiggled around places I had never imagined could feel something like this. And I was pretty familiar with the ways those places could feel, overall.

I freaked out a little when he gagged, I won't lie. I yelped and sat very still and let him pull back and cough a little.

He looked up at me sheepishly, the head still in his mouth. "Don't hurt yourself down there..." I rumbled, the mindblowing sensation making me sort of playful, despite being unduly worried about him choking or something.

He chuckled around my penis. And that felt good. Everything felt good.

He went down again. I was getting a bit more used to it... but it was still intense. I could feel him swallowing my precum from time to time. He kept trying to go down to my knot, and kept backing off, about an inch away from it. I watched nervously. I didn't want to make him gag again. This was supposed to be fun for both of us.

"You don't have to go all the way," I said, awkwardly.

He nodded a little, reaching behind him to push my underwear back a bit, and I took the cue and sat up, pulling them the rest of the way off. He gave me a little "Mmmf," of thanks, and then used his paws to push my thighs apart, giving him more room to work. I lay down flat, now, and just let my mouth loll open as he slobbered all over my cock, moving his head up and down. I was struggling to continue that breathing thing.

Oh geez.

Oh fuck.

Oh... Oh gosh...

I grabbed his head from both sides and pulled him off, panting. He looked up at me. Some combination of the shininess of my cock, and the slightly thicker, stringy quality of his saliva... It just really drove home to me what he'd done. Jesse the sexy gay leopard model computer scientist had just sucked me off.

I gulped. "I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that." It was kind of embarrassing to say. It hadn't been a particularly long blowjob.

He nodded slowly. "You can... cum in my mouth, if you want..." he said, semi-bashfully. "I wanna see how it tastes..."

I stared at him. Breathing, Paul, breathing.

"I... I don't want to cum just yet..." I decided. Tempting as it was, having a little leopard guy tell me I could totally shoot a load into his maw and he wouldn't mind.

He nodded, and scooted up next to me. "So... so what do you want to do? Fuck me?" he asked, laying on his side seductively.

I panted some more and thought. I hadn't made him feel really good yet, had I?

Hmmm...

I knew what I wanted. The hard part was thinking how to say it.

"I..."

He looked at me. He gave me a little smile, when I met his eyes. The kind you give, after you ask someone if they want to fuck you.

"I, uh... I want to..."

I was blushing more and more. I ducked my head; my ears dropped.

"I want you to... um..."

I glanced at him. I think he could guess what I was saying, but I had to say it the rest of the way.

"I... I want you to be on top!" I said in a rush, and buried my muzzle in my paws.

It was embarrassing. It was really embarrassing. I mean, I'm totally cool with the stuff I like. Really. A-ok. But... just the... expectation. That a big guy like me should be plowing a little guy like him...

It was hard to work against. Hard to correct. Hard to admit, that Paul Harrison (six-foot-five ex-football player, don-cha-know) really wanted to take it up the butt. That I'd rather do that, than be all tough and fuck this little guy like the big man I was. Hell, maybe I'm just self-conscious about my masculinity. I probably wouldn't argue that accusation.

You try going through puberty as a gay football player, see if you're any better afterward.

I peeked out at him from between my pawdigits, cheeks burning. He grinned a little at me, sitting on his heels between my knees. "Hey, big guy... don't be like that about it..."

I curled my paws a bit, knuckles against my cheekbones. "I want you to fuck me..."

"Okay," he said easily. "I will. But..." He gave my headfur a little rub. "Gosh, you get so shy..."

I squirmed a little, mumbling incoherently. "You were just... expecting... and I'm a big tough guy and..."

He wrapped one paw around my shoulders. "If that's what you want, I'm happy to oblige, heheh. I was just thinking about the best way to finish you off, since that's what we were talking about."

Well, now I felt dumb.

"I..."

He kissed me a little to shut me up. Probably a good choice. "You, uh. You got those condoms?"

I reacted slowly. "Uh. Yeah, here." I sat up, pulled open my underwear drawer. A quick rummage around at the back produced what I was looking for, and I tossed him a foil packet. "Here. And..." Dig, dig. I never used this stuff, so it was hard to find.

I sat back down, and handed him a small bottle of lube; the good kind, not some lotion or someshit. "Here. Uh. You'll probably need that, too."

He chuckled. "You're a regular supermarket."

"Just, uh... like to be prepared..." I chuckled a little.

Yeah, so I'd been ready to have buttsex pretty much since I was old enough to buy that kind of stuff. So what? It's good to have around!

"You can, uh. Take a couple with you when you go, too," I mumbled. "Since you don't have any. Condoms, I mean. I keep one in my wallet just in case."

He blinked. Smiled a little, as he tore the packet open. "Well... thanks... but I think we can just keep them in your room, really..."

What did he mean by that?

Oh. Heh. I blushed. And smiled. And stared at my footpaws. I hadn't thought about...

Guess he wanted to do this again sometime. I wiggled my toes, grinning sheepishly.

He kicked off his boxers. I watched him. Or his cock, really. Hard and twitchy. Lighter pink than my own.

Barbs and spots.

Looking at his sheath in studio was going to be a lot tougher next Tuesday, now that I knew what lay just inside of it.

Speaking of that...

"I, uh. I hope this isn't going to cause issues when you have to model..." I said, watching him carefully roll the condom onto his dick, minding the barbs especially. "I mean, since I'll be in there, and we'll have..."

He shook his head. "You know, the first time I did it, last year, I was kinda worried about that, too. Just, what if I got a boner or something, you know?" He grinned. "But as long as I... uh, well, as long as I don't skip, uh, pawing, or something, it's not a problem. It's actually really hard to get one, when you've got twenty people staring at you and it's all cold and un-sexy and stuff."

I swallowed, as the rubber introduced itself to the rim of his sheath. "I thought it was pretty sexy..."

He smirked, giving me a curious look. "I noticed you missed about five sketches that first day."

My ears flopped back like someone had cut the string holding them up. Geez, he'd seen that?

He laughed and gave me a little half-hug. "It was kinda cute, actually. I didn't know if you liked it or had just never seen a naked man before..."

"I've seen plenty of naked men before!" I said defensively. Then I realized how that sounded. "I... I was a football player in high school..." I murmured.

He chuckled, and scooted down a bit towards my legs. I leaned back on my elbows nervously.

"So... how do you want to do this?" he said, cock bobbing near my own. Mine was a little longer. Maybe an inch; nothing significant. We were both pretty average down there.

"Uh... like this is fine, I guess..." I rumbled. I spread my legs a little more. I was still a little embarrassed, but his easy acceptance of the role was helping me get over that. I sure didn't have to talk him into being on top, not with the way his erection was twitching eagerly.

"Okay."

He had the lube on his fingers now, and spread it gingerly onto his condom. Got a bit more lube. He reached out hesitantly...

I let my tail lie flat on the bed, and scooted my footpaws up toward me. My hips rolled back a little. I pulled my paws up to my muzzle, too. It was a reflex; I couldn't help it.

Yeow that was cold.

My tail bristled; I sucked in air between my teeth and set my ears back. I mean, you read about it in stories on the internet, but geez, that was really cold.

He chuckled. "Sorry..." Gingerly, his digits worked their way around down there.

The moment was getting progressively more intimate, now that the practical matters of protection and position had been taken care of. He had his paw under my tail. He was touching me... all along the side, and up behind my balls, and the other side, and... there. It made me shiver and breathe heavily, that feeling.

That little leopard kept looking up at me, as he gently smeared the lube around my tailhole. Looking up at me with this solemn, earnest, significant look. He was gonna fuck me. And he wanted me to think about that.

I was thinking about it, all right. My dick was fully hard, knot all swelled up now. I was thinking about it.

He was definitely done with the lubrication application. Now he was just... touching. Playing. Rubbing. It felt... nice. Having your tailhole rubbed feels nice.

Unbiased opinion.

Now he was lining up and getting close to me, his hard, upward-curving penis gently nudging into the three-way intersection of my butt and tail.

He looked at me, eyes burning.

"You ready?" I asked, nose in my paws again.

He nodded. He was ready. Ready to fuck me. "Are you?" he replied.

I shivered. I was blushing just a little.

Nod.

"Okay," he said softly. His paws gripped my hips gently.

He pushed a little.

It felt... so weird.

He pushed harder. Adjusted his angle. Pushed. Squirmed a bit. Pushed, more gently and firmly.

"Try to relax," he said.

I tried.

Push. Push. Pushpushpush--

I yipped loudly as a searing lance of pain shot from the base of my tail up into my stomach. Holy crap, is that what this felt like?! Suddenly, I wasn't so sure I wanted -

Oh. Wait. It wasn't so bad now. It still stung and ached, but not so bad.

Jesse was looking at me with concern, wordlessly.

"It's okay... Just hurt a lot at first..." I said. "You can keep going..."

He grimaced. "I... pulled out, actually. When you yelled like that."

Oh. I gulped. I couldn't even tell; it was still stinging.

"T-try it again..."

That pushing sensation was becoming familiar. This time, even that part hurt some.

I gritted my teeth and didn't yelp this time. I also felt the difference between out and in, now that I had a chance to. Oh, yes. Now I could definitely tell. Everything flared open, stretched, my tailhole was forced to expand to the diameter of his cock. His head rested there now, squeezed in the grip of my muscles.

"You okay?" he asked, sounding really concerned; I wondered what my face looked like.

I nodded sharply, almost angrily. "Just... just put it all the way in..."

I heard him take a breath. "Okay..."

He started pushing again, and it hurt quite a bit. Then, his head slid the rest of the way inside, producing a surge of pain; it was less the barbs, and more just the thickness... and then a reduction to a somewhat lower baseline, on the thinner bit of his shaft. It still felt gigantic. Like he was trying to shove the empire state building up my ass.

Slowly, he kept going, sliding along with gentle, hesitant pressure. I had the feeling if I'd so much as flinched he would have stopped, so I remained as still as possible, and tried not to make any scary facial expressions.

Never mind that it hurt like a motherfucker. Holy cow. I had not been expecting this.

I tried my hardest to relax. His shaft was getting thicker, and it was hurting more and more... and then he stopped.

"Keep going," I growled.

"That's it," he replied, and gave a little further push. I felt his sheath against my butt, now.

His voice was a bit... breathy. I slitted my eyes open. He was hunched over me. His eyes were pretty crazy; the look in them made me smile a bit, in spite of the aching.

"Just... give me a sec," I murmured. The pain was lessening a bit.

"Dude, take all the time you want..."

His tone almost made me giggle in spite of my discomfort. "You like this, Jesse?"

I watched him swallow. "You're so tight. I mean jesus christ..." he whined. "I can't believe you just took it all at once, it must hurt like hell..."

I grimaced. "It's a bit more than I expected, but I'm getting used to it."

He nodded. "Just... I'll take it out if you want. Just tell me."

"It's okay." I smiled a little, giving his shoulder an affectionate rub. "I promise."

He nodded, ducking his head a little with a gasp as I twitched involuntarily. It really was kind of funny to watch.

I waited a little longer. Yeah, it was getting a lot better. I smiled a bit; for a while I'd been kind of worried that this wasn't going to be as much fun as I'd thought.

"Okay... I think I'm ready," I said.

He looked at me, and after a pause, he nodded.

The pain returned a bit when he began to pull out, but it was definitely manageable now. His barbed cock felt a lot rougher coming out, but it was a nice sort of roughness; it made my nerves tingle. It occurred to me, as he gave his first experimental thrust, that we probably should have stretched me out with something other than his dick, before we started. Isn't that what they usually did, in those stories on the internet?

Hindsight, heh.

His thrusts were slow and gentle, and given the amount of effort I felt in them, he must not have been exaggerating about the tightness. I was acutely aware of having a giant... thing under my tail, but it didn't feel much to me except large. And it's not like his tool was all that enormous. Which I was thankful for at this point; I don't know what I would have done if he'd been unusually well hung. Probably would have just given him a blowjob. Not that that wouldn't be fun as well, trading some dick-sucking together.

After a little bit, he lay down on my chest - his arms must have been getting tired - and he began gently humping by curving his lower back. That was about when it started to feel nice. The pain had receded enough (though it was still quite present) that I was able to appreciate the feeling, the stimulation of nerves that rarely got anything of the sort. My cock, which had gone mostly soft while it was hurting, started to slide out of my sheath again.

He hugged me and cuddled me and kissed my chest. We both panted quietly. He was sure taking to being on top like a natural. Maybe it shouldn't've surprised me, but it did, a little. A pleasant surprise.

Sodomy. Such a silly word, isn't it? Saw-dummy.

He gave a soft little moan on one thrust. I realized I'd clenched a bit, involuntarily.

I tried it again. Voluntarily this time. Heheh. That moan was louder.

I had my paws around him, now, too. Yeah, it was feeling nice now. I was hard again. My knot, which had started going down when I got soft (but not gone all the way; it lags behind the rest of my cock both in getting hard and getting soft), began swelling again, aching a bit.

It was kind of a shame he was short and I was tall. I wanted to kiss him, but he was too far away, what with his hips having to be below mine and all. So I just held him and petted him softly, tongue hanging out of my mouth, and he licked my fur and braced himself against my chest.

He still wasn't going very fast or hard. It was really quite relaxed, nothing frantic or passionate about it. It was affectionate, not lusty. It felt good. Right.

I gulped.

"My legs are getting tired," I rumbled. I had my footpaws pulled up about as close to my hips as I could get them, and my thighs spread outward to give him room.

He looked up at me. "My back is getting tired," he replied, with a chuckle.

I grinned back. "Let's try... Ah, heck, you'll have to take it out..."

He nodded. Pulled back. Paused, when he got to the barbs, and looked at me. I gripped the sides of the bed, bracing myself. Nodded.

He tugged gently, and his cock slid out. I sucked in air through my teeth. That was painful. I couldn't imagine doing that without a condom, he'd rip me to shreds; they weren't sharp, but they were small and pointy enough to do some damage. I wondered whether it was just something you got used to, sleeping with felines, or if condoms were a practical necessity for anal sex with one. Maybe you could just leave it in until it got soft, like a knot? I assumed they got smaller and more flexible when he was soft...

"Sorry," he said. He really did sound apologetic.

"Not like you can help it," I replied. "It's okay. I like 'em when they're in me."

He chuckled. "I like them when they're in you, too..."

I remembered the way he'd reacted when I'd rubbed them earlier. I bet he did.

I gingerly rolled over, crawling up onto my paws and knees, facing away from him. I hiked my tail up as far as it would go, and bent it to the side. "How's this?"

"Let's try." Carefully, he lined up again, and pushed. It went in easier this time. And hurt pretty good, but fortunately not as bad as the first time.

He bent over me, laying on my back, and moaned a little. "Oh yeah that's good..."

I found myself moaning a little in response, as his cock settled into its natural position inside me. "Yeah, this is... nice..." I breathed.

He pulled back. Thrusted.

I felt it a lot more clearly this time. The angle he was at, laying on me like that... his barbs rubbed all along the lower side of my guts, shoved into me by the force of his thrust, dragged back as he withdrew. And something along the way was quite fond of that attention.

So that's what they meant, about that...

He curled his arms around my torso, feeling my chest as he started that rhythmic motion with which I was becoming all too familiar. "Aaaaaah..." he breathed out. "I like this position a lot better..."

"Me too..." I groaned. I was dripping onto my sheets. I tried clenching again.

"Oh god, Paul..." he whined. It literally fouled up his rhythm. He missed a stroke, took a strange, awkward half-thrust. Which happened to grind his barbs into my prostate quite nicely.

A surge of excitement shot through me, when he said my name like that. I mean... wow. That was me. That meant me. He was directing that... that whine, that emotion, at me.

Clench.

"Ohhhh gooood..." he gasped. "Oh god do that some more..."

I did.

"Aaaahhh..." His strokes were getting a little rougher, now, but I was definitely not objecting. I could have handled a pretty great deal of pain with his barbs rubbing the internal side of my junk, like that. I wondered if this had ever occurred to anesthesiologists. Seemed a lot easier than putting someone under, to me.

"Oh, Paullll..."

I could really get used to him saying my name like that.

I tried doing it back. "Nnnngh... J-jesse..." Mine was quieter, almost a whisper.

"Paul... aah..."

Clench. "Jesse..."

He panted against my back. His mouth was brushing through my fur; I felt his teeth grazing my skin.

A weird thrust hit me harder than usual in that spot. "Oh fuuuuck..." I gasped, as a blast of pleasure radiated to the end of my dick. My ears twitched as I heard the splurt striking the mattress. This was getting intense. Everything felt... really good.

"Jesse... Jesse, I'm gonna cum..." I groaned.

He faltered. "Do... do you want me to hold your knot?"

I panted. I'd heard about that technique and how good it was supposed to feel; I'd never tried it myself. I prefer just rubbing the end of my dick, when I paw off.

"Yeah, sure..." I breathed.

He wrapped his arms around me, curled his paws around Paul Junior. Both paws around my knot. "Shit, it's big..."

"Yeah..." I grunted; I was about as knotty as I could ever remember being. He started thrusting again.

"I'll try not to hurt you..."

"Don't... don't think you have the arm strength to hurt me, fella," I said, with a strained chuckle. "Just squeeze really hard..."

"Kay..." he said. His barbs were pummeling my prostate and it felt amazing.

Then he squeezed.

The only thing I can compare it to is pressing a detonator.

"Oh shhhh - " I let my elbows give out. It wasn't difficult, and I needed to get my muzzle into the pillow before I started yelling. Because I was gonna start yelling. Jesse was clearly squeezing as hard as he could, and his thrusts had grown tentative, furtive, almost like he was afraid of something...

When my whole lower abdomen contracted in one rhythmic surge, I figured that must have been what it was.

I didn't actually hear his reaction to the orgasmic clenching of my tail region. I was totally out of it. My body was convinced that I was tying something. And it was convinced that that was pretty cool. Add to that the incessant humping against my now extremely sensitive prostate, and, well, I was pretty much a mess. Moaning and giving little, overwhelmed, desperate cries into my pillow. Thrashing my head around. The good stuff. I felt my cum painting my chest and belly, hot and thick and voluminous.

The pillow was damp. Maybe I shed a few tears out of the wild intensity of it. Maybe it was my drool. Hell, maybe my cum hit it; I dunno.

Finally, after what felt like the energy of a small nuclear explosion had torn through me, I began to regain a modicum of sanity. Remembered breathing. I'm bad about forgetting that during sex, it seems.

I raised my head, still shaking slightly, in the grip of aftershocks more powerful than I'd ever felt from an orgasm. "How you doin' back there?" I quipped. That weird mind-blown-jokester-Paul coming out again... where did he come from, anyway?

"That was intense," he panted. He was still going, pretty gingerly, though. "I, uh... I'm pretty close. You squeezed like..." There was a moment filled with rough breathing. "Like, like I dunno, like..."

"Heheh. Bit much for ya?"

"Quite a bit, yeah..." I heard him gulp. "Listen, Paul, can I... can I... uh... bite you?"

I blinked.

"I won't hurt you, I promise, I just..."

"Okay," I said. Must be a feline thing.

"Th... thanks..." His teeth grazed my shoulderblade area, moved left, toward my side. "I'll... I'll be gentle... I..." He whined. I could feel his breath huffing through my fur as his strokes slowed. "I'm really close... I'm so close, Paul... I..."

Clench.

"Aaaaa_aaaaaah_!" he yelled. Then he bit.

He was not gentle. But I guess I kind of deserved it, considering the little trick I played. I was grinning even as I winced. The guy had teeth like little sabers.

His thrusts got very shallow, his cock shoved in so far that his sheath bunched up against my tailhole, and his tight ballsack was pretty much best friends with my loosening one. I felt his barbs a lot more acutely all of a sudden; they must have flared out, or lengthened. I could hear him moaning and yowling into my fur, muffled, holding onto me. And deep in my guts, around the very tip of that 'big' feeling... I started feeling a little bit of warmth. Then more, proper heat, even.

"Rrrrgh... rrrrrgh... prrrrlll..."

I assume that last one was my name.

I gave him a couple more clenches while he came, but he seemed so far gone that his reactions weren't discernable from the mess of groans and rumbles coming out of him.

His thrusting stopped about halfway through, and he just lay on top of me limply, literally holding on with his teeth. The tugging hurt a bit, but the way he was just lying still as he blew his nuts into me was pretty cute, in my opinion. I let him have as long as he wanted to finish up like that; if it was like the load I'd just blown, it wasn't just over at any one point. It kind of tapered off, slow-like. Maybe that was just the tying thing, though.

Finally, he gripped my waist, and let go with his mouth, panting. He hung there for a moment.

Then, "Shit! Shit, Paul, I'm sorry..."

I chuckled. "Am I bleeding?"

"Uh... little bit..." He sounded really embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, you just squeezed and I lost control... I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," I replied, thoroughly amused; it hadn't hurt all that badly. "Maybe I'll get an interesting scar to remember my first time by."

"Heheh," was his only response, followed by a pause. Then, "Yours too, huh?"

"Yup." I suddenly wished I could look into his eyes, right then, but he still had me pretty well speared.

"Huh." He knelt there a moment, still trying to catch his breath. "I... I hope it was good..."

"You're kidding, right?"

My tone was so deadpan that he laughed, a full and proper laugh. "Okay, then. Good to hear." He paused. "I wasn't sure how well I would do... being on top, and all, I mean."

"Why? Is topping not what you usually think about?"

"Well... I mean, sure, I think about it plenty... but when you're getting... intimate... with a big muscular fox, it takes some balls to not just lie down and take it, you know?"

I figured I knew what he meant. "Well... you gave it pretty damn well, is my opinion. You were great."

He chuckled, and nuzzled against my back in a friendly way. After a moment, he said, "Barbs should be a little softer now. I'll... I'll get you a band-aid for your back... or several..."

I snorted a bit. "They're on top of the dresser. Neosporin, too."

"Good, I don't want you to get an infection or anything..." He gingerly pulled out to the barbed bit, and then tugged.

I flinched.

"Sorry..."

"I told you, it's okay." I relaxed, lying down on my belly, and was able to finally put my tail down; it ached a surprising amount from being bent up for so long. Which was to say nothing of the ache that was radiating from below it. "The way they were rubbing me inside, I hold absolutely no grudges."

"Heheh, glad you enjoyed them too, then." He came back with the medical supplies. Pretty bad for a first time, right? When you need medical supplies immediately after?

I looked over at him as he stood there. He stalled sheepishly for a moment. "Sorry about this..."

I waved my paw at him. "Quit being silly. I said it was fine. You're sure apologetic after sex, you know that?"

He grinned a bit, patting the now-sore spot on my back with a tissue. "My father's side is mostly canadian, maybe you bring it out of me. This'll sting."

Ah. He found the rubbing alcohol, I felt. I sucked in air through my teeth. "You make a great nurse, Jesse," I grumbled. "With the brisk sadism..."

He chuckled. Rubbed on some neosporin. Magical healing goo, full of magic and magic. Then the band-aid, with the soft, squishy, waterproof adhesive pads that were easy to remove from fur, once you needed to. Just pull so that it comes off root-to-tip, and they don't even yank. Learned that way after I should have; why don't they put this stuff on the box?

Another bandaid, and then a third. "Geez, how much trouble did you get into back there?" I murmured, eyes half-shut; having him take care of me like that was pretty nice.

"That's it. Just, the four canine marks. Two were close enough that I could just turn it sideways, the other two needed their own." He gave me a gentle pat on the bandages. "Gosh, you are an artist. Always critiquing other people's work..."

I chuckled and slithered up. "Yeah, what can I say..." I noticed, then, that he still had the condom on, his cock going soft and bunching it up at the top of his sheath. He sure came a lot, this nerdy leopard guy with the incredible body.

"Here..." I reached out. Gently took hold of his cock. He watched me; not my paws, but my face.

I slid the condom off him gently. It was really kind of a sweet moment. The way he shifted, still sensitive; the way I carefully slid it over his still poke-tastic barbs...

I tied the condom off and tossed it in the trash. "I think I'm going to take a shower and clean up," I said. My tail was a bit messy, particularly from when I'd been on my back.

"Good idea."

I loaned him a towel, of course. We padded into the dorm bathroom together. There was no one else in there - everyone was either asleep or out partying at this time of night. I took one shower stall, he took the one next to it. Nothing romantic or steamy or whatever. This was a practical thing, not a sexy thing.

I still had a pretty good boner going, though, I observed, as I turned on the water. The shaft part was getting pretty soft, but my knot was still going strong. It usually calmed down after a few minutes, but I suppose the tying thing had some reflexes associated with it, or something. I swear, I was still feeling a bit of an aftershock from that orgasm; it was pretty thrilling. I stepped under the water once it was warm, and breathed out a sigh.

I gave myself a good rinse-down just for the comfort factor. I love taking showers. Who doesn't really? But I mean, seriously; I really love them.

After that, though, I did what I had to do. Mostly just lube everywhere down there. I probably should have cleaned up beforehand, too, but I wasn't really expecting to get laid all of a sudden. It was a little embarrassing, really, but a bit of soap, and everything was better. He hadn't seemed grossed out; heck, I'm not sure if he even noticed, that things got... a little messy. I'd have to be better prepared, next time we tried this.

My whole tail region was going to be sore as fuck tomorrow. Right now it was just stinging, a deep, penetrating sort of sensitivity. But I could tell that overnight, that would turn into a fiery ache. I wouldn't be able to sit down for a week. Studio was going to be unbearable, with those damn stools.

"Hey, uh," came his voice, over the noise of two showerheads running. "Can I borrow your soap?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." I was done with it. I slid the bottle of body wash under the partition between our two showers.

My knot was finally starting to go down. I stared at it a moment, letting the hot water drum on my skull. I wondered if he had liked it.

Weird thoughts. I turned the water off, toweled my fur dry-ish. A moment later, his shower went off as well.

I stepped out. He stepped out. He handed me my soap back. "Thanks," he said.

"Sure."

He smiled a little, looking at my chest. "Your fur's so..."

I stood kinda still, watching as he reached a paw out, gently touching the borderline between the white part and the red part. The touch made me inhale, as though he'd pressed a switch.

His fingers trailed slowly down over my pecs and onto my flat stomach, before he let his paw fall to his side.

I exhaled. Decided it was probably better we head back to my room, before someone came into the bathroom and saw us behaving... unusually.

We went back together. He sat down on the futon; I shut the door and locked it.

"So... now what?" he asked.

I blinked. "What do you mean, 'now what'? What do you think?"

"Well... well, I dunno... what I think..." he murmured, looking at me uncertainly, looking away, looking back at me.

I smiled a little at him. "Now you get in bed with me and I hold you and we fall asleep together."

The smile spread to his face. My smiles are contagious, it seems. Watch out!

"I was hoping you would say that..." he said quietly.

"'Now what'," I scoffed, padding over to my dresser. "What did you think I was gonna do, kick you out?" I adopted what I hoped was a stupid-sounding voice. "'Thanks for the fun times and all, but you can go home now!'"

He shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you... would like... doing that with me."

I stared at him.

"C'mere, you."

Hesitantly, he stood and walked closer to me. I put my paws on his upper arms, gently, and looked deep into those golden-brown eyes, no longer hidden behind his glasses.

"I want to cuddle with you. I want to hold you. I want to sleep with you. I want to wake up with you. I want to smile at you when I see you in the studio. I want to text you when we're done with class. And I want to be with you every moment that you'll let me. Whether we're fucking or talking or just holding paws by the stupid lake."

I don't know if it came out as romantic as it sounded in my head. For the last time, I'm not an english major. If I were, it would have come out right. It would have come out... the way I meant it.

Also, if I were an english major, I'd definitely write an ode to a cheeseburger. Just thought I'd mention that.

He seemed to like it, though. "Oh, Paul..." he murmured, and wrapped his arms around me. Leaned up at me. I smiled and leaned down, so we could kiss. The inside of his mouth was warm and wet and wonderful; his teeth were sharp and smooth and satiny. Our tongues made love, just as we had minutes ago.

Shame he was so short compared to me, really. There was no way we could make out while having sex.

Well... unless... we did it the other way...

Hm. Well, maybe I'd try it eventually. I was pretty well convinced that having a dick up my rear was the way I wanted it, for now, at least. Maybe there was some sort of acrobatics we could get up to instead, to manage the kissing thing.

I broke away from him. "Do you wanna sleep in your boxers, or do you want to borrow a pair of pajama pants?"

He shrugged. "I usually sleep naked, so I don't care."

"Dunno if we'll get any sleep if we do that," I replied, sneaking my paw down to his towel and dislodging its precarious grip on his hips.

He gasped as it slid off and I grabbed his sheath, and then giggled and squirmed away. "Okay, good point. Uh, I guess it's sorta cold, so I'll take the pants."

"That too," I said, digging through my drawers, trying not to look at his body. "This dorm's all old and creaky. Gets chilly overnight. I have lots of blankets, though. I'll keep you warm."

He smiled at me, and I had an even harder time focusing on what I was doing. I knocked my paws into the back of the drawer clumsily.

There. Extra pajama pants. Always good to have around. I tossed them to him. "You'll have to tie the drawstring pretty good... I'm a bit bigger than you, heh." That was putting it mildly; his boxers were probably a size small, and here I was with XL pajama pants...

I'm not fat. Really. I was for a little bit, in freshman year. But I have big hips. I did when I was skinnier, too, really in shape.

Heck, I have big everything.

And yeah, all right, maybe I'm self-conscious about it. A little bit. Shut up. Jesse doesn't mind at all.

He pulled on the pajamas, did the drawstring. They folded over his footpaws amusingly, so he had to shuffle when he walked. I put on my pair as well.

The sheets were a bit messy, mostly due to my explosive jizzing all over them. The blankets, fortunately, had escaped pretty much unscathed. I tossed those aside, and just changed the sheets; he helped, and it went a lot faster than when I had to do it alone.

Funny, the little things that matter, about being with someone else.

When we'd made the bed and flipped the pillow, and I'd grabbed the extra pillow I keep on my futon for him, I decided that was good enough. I flicked on the fan that I keep on when I'm sleeping, to provide background noise. He went and got the light.

And then he came back. I felt his paws rub against my chest in the dark.

"Heheh, hi."

"I dunno exactly where the bed is..." he murmured, with a chuckle.

"Let me show you." I reached out, felt his torso. Carefully, I aligned myself right.

Then I scooped him into my arms.

He cuddled up to my chest and purred. Nothing like having a kitty in your arms. Especially the sexy kind. I have nothing against cuddling with the other kind; cuddling in general is pretty awesome in my opinion... but sexy cuddles are just better. They just are.

One arm under his back and down his side, the other under his knees. I kissed him on the nose. He rumbled and licked my pectoral muscle and gave me a big, happy purr.

I set him down and slid into bed all in one gesture. Messed around with the blankets a bit until everything was set up right. Positioned myself so as to receive the least amount of discomfort from my tail region. Then I wrapped one arm around him, across his chest, under the covers; the other curled up by his shoulder. We were pretty close, given that it was only a twin bed, but there was room. I'm a side sleeper; he seemed like a back sleeper, from the way he fit his side against my chest and half-curled toward me.

I had to kiss him again. I just had to.

It was soft, and gentle, and weak. Going-to-sleep kiss. Sleepy kiss. Nice kiss.

"Are you warm enough?" I asked, after.

"Yeah."

I nuzzled against him, fitting my muzzle against his neck; his came to rest atop my cheekbone. "Good."

And then my fuzzy thoughts faded into simple contentment, lulling, settling into a comfortable black.

---

This story came to me during my own figure drawing class - unfortunately, that's about the only element of a true story in it - and also integrated a fair amount of ideas and stylistic elements that I've been playing with in Free Association, which I wanted to explore in more detail than I'm going to get to in that project. 'En Plein Air' is a french term which means 'in open air', and is used to denote work that is done outside of the studio, in a more natural setting (usually outside). Hopefully the pun now becomes apparent, heheh.

I had a great deal of fun with these two characters, because I happen to be a student of both computer science and art, so playing them off against each other was a lot of fun. I also wanted to give people a bit of a glimpse into art, as a subject, and I tried to approach it from an outsider's perspective. This is very much a story aimed at non-artists, or amateur artists who have never studied it formally; I hope Paul's narrative felt that way.

I rarely work in first person; the decision to write this story from that viewpoint was complicated for me. First person is... more difficult to control, I feel. Easier to lapse into musing, hard to explore details and plot events in a direct fashion. It's messier. However, it's very powerfully emotive, and I found as I was developing Paul's character that I really wanted to get into his head, and talk about his feelings. I suppose it's the distaff counterpart to Free Association, with which it shares many elements and themes (you will see some similarities in the upcoming episodes in particular, I think), in that in FA I treat emotions and psychology in a very paws-off, clinical, analytic way. With this, I wanted to handle them more personally.

My final, and most important, reason for writing this, was that I wanted to write a... 'realistic first time'. I do a lot of exploration of virginity and the loss of it in my writing, because it's such an interesting emotional process, and has perhaps more psychological impact than any other action that regularly takes place between two people. It's a very personal thing, for most people, and I wanted to treat it very personally, and not gloss over things like awkwardness, pain, and, uh, messiness. Because those are components of it too, and they stick in your head afterward as much as the pleasure and the sexiness and the romance. I hope it felt as realistic from the audience's perspective.

As always, comments and critique encouraged, and thanks for reading. :3