A Presence of Light
" ... mm, mm," were her throaty sounds, born of physical pleasantness, light and lazy, moaned in sweet, simple succession. The tipsy otter was somewhat on her backside, shifting to get more comfortable, legs beginning to spread. More on instinct than conscious thought, really. Knowing that 'horny' and 'spread legs' led to good feelings. Laying, as she was, on the hood of their car, out in the modest gravel driveway.
She soon sighed, semi-aware of twilight swooning all around them. Swooning like she was. Like the sleepy daffodils and tulips round the edges of their rustic home were. And, oh, how existence was laced with early springtime, with just enough warmth in the faint, finger-trailing breeze. Though not enough to keep it from being some degree of cool. And not to forget the stars, which were just now winking into sequined view.
Orinoco, standing, blue jeans crumpled around his knees, with a notable bulge in the front of his white, cotton briefs, was leaning against the front bumper, paws pulling at his wife's clothes, breath panting lightly. Just audible enough for her to hear. He could almost, amidst it all, detect his own heartbeat in his rounded ears. He wondered if that was a side-effect of frantic, wobbly passion. Thought about asking Rhine if she, too, could hear her own heart. But he couldn't quite compose the words. Not quite yet.
And, she, watching him, began to giggle-chirp in that otter way, head rolling aside. Hips squirming playfully. Her eyes closing. " ... can't wait, can ya? H-huh?" She felt her skirt come undone, tugged off, the fabric dragging sensually across her brown-furred thighs, her rich, brown fur, the skirt coming off, off, over her knees, down her shins. A semi-heavy sigh, wistful for crickets and cicadas. Mockingbirds, too. Nights hot enough to swim in, to make love on the river-bank. But summer was a few months away, still. The cattails weren't tall and swaying. Not yet. But, oh, the promise was there. As sure as she had Hoosier blood in her veins, it was there. And that, tonight, was enough. The promise. The utter promise and the taste of summer, youthfully evident in spring, on her tongue. With each inhale, she tingled with life. And, oh, love via her faith, and via this, via her clothes coming off, via so much. Love was, though all of it, the final context.
" ... y-you're the one with, uh, your legs raised," was all he could respond with, fingers trembling. "Talk 'bout me not bein' able to wait." A huff. "I, uh ... I can hear my heart in my ears," he finally managed. "Can you?" A deep breath, pupils fully-dilated. Halfway meeting her gaze.
Rhine gave a serious, little nod. " ... yeah," was her dainty, honest whisper. " ... yeah, I hear it. You, uh ... you really make it go," she said, swallowing, smiling tenderly. Eyes remaining open, now. A sigh, head lolling aside, cheek on the car-hood. Her whiskers temporarily bending as a result. " ... mm ... where'd the rest of 'em get to?" Her sturdy rudder-tail was angling off to the side, having gone still after initially slap-slapping against the car. Her head was lolling in the opposite direction, now, eyes closing again, if only momentarily. "Mm?"
"They, uh ... " Orinoco took a breath. " ... stayed in the house. Think they're still in the kitchen or somethin'. I dunno." His head was swimming in a dizzy, hazy way. And he should be used to that, being that he was an otter and was, therefore, an expert in all things swimming. He felt like he was bobbing in a river-current. Cause of the alcohol, no doubt. And it wasn't at all an unpleasant sensation. It was just a very 'loose' one. Made it hard to keep his bearings. But the general feeling of 'floating' was also, to a large degree, stemming from the love and passion he felt for her. He truly believed that.
"Heh, think anyone's gonna be drivin' down the road? Headlights on? See us out their windows?" A pause, giggle-chirping. "Little kids in the back seat?"
Orinoco gave her a scrunch-muzzled look. "Think we're close enough to the house. They wouldn't see us 'less they were already lookin' this way. An' it's getting' dark enough. We live on a gravel road. How much traffic we get, anyway?"
"Jus' postulatin'," was her slightly-blurry response, giggle-chirping. "I really don't care 'bout any details right now. I feel really ... heh," she said, giggling some more. " ... relaxed. I feel really, really giggly."
"Well, y'would." Before they'd wound up in this particular situation, they'd been inside, eating, drinking. Rhine and Orinoco had invited Ketchy and Denali up for the day. The afternoon and evening. On a Saturday here, out in the countryside, on the banks of the Kenapocomoco River in North-Central Indiana. They'd all had supper together, which had involved lots of glasses of wine.
" ... well, uh, it's our house, though, y'know, an' ... an' why am I on the car, again?" Rhine rambled, blurring her words a bit. As before. As she'd been constantly doing for the past half hour. Perhaps repeating herself, too. She wasn't sure. But she honestly didn't remember why they'd come out here. They hadn't driven anywhere, obviously. They'd eaten their meal in the kitchen. And Rhine and Orinoco's seven-month old baby son, Wabash, was staying with Ori's parents for the night. They lived two miles down the road. So, they needn't worry about his welfare at the moment, about fetching him or anything. And, obviously, Ketchy and Denali weren't gonna be able to drive home in their current state. They'd have to sleep on the couch. But, in the meantime, all of 'em had to breed. They were furs, after all.
" ... you wanted to give Ketchy some privacy." Orinoco's eyes widely took Rhine's supple body in as he peeled the panties off her curved, feminine hips, pulling them down, down, then up past her knees. Until they were off her foot-paws. He huffed and dropped them to the gravel, which wasn't all that sharp or uncomfortable to stand on. It was mostly trampled down, with grass growing in patches all over. "'Bout the moment Denali, uh ... freed her breasts."
"Heh ... yeah. Mm ... you were lookin', then?"
A breath, his response a tad delayed. "At, uh ... w-what? No," he said, hot beneath the fur, licking his dry lips as he slipped his briefs down. Down to his knees, with his jeans. Trying to kick it all down to his ankles. So that, a few seconds later, we was able to step out of them, fully naked. Rhine with only a shirt and bra on, now.
"You looked at Ketchy's breasts. Y'did."
"I'm not gonna say anything to that other than ... " A simple nod. " ... I happen to like breasts. Yours the most, but ... lift your arms," he whispered, feeling wobbly. Almost tipping forward. Her rudder tail swayed behind him, like an uncertain paddle in a tipsy sea. " ... never seen a squirrel's before. Don't blame me for lookin'. If you'd seen Denali naked, you would've looked to see his, uh, 'thing' ... "
" ... probably would've," she admitted, honestly.. "Out o' curiosity, though, not cause it meant I wanted it."
" ... same for me and Ketchy."
A goofy grin. "Mm ... j-just teasin' ya, darling. Cause I know," she whispered, taking in air, " ... know how much you like takin' to a teat. Heh ... "
A flush, his whiskers giving a singular, errant twitch.. " ... Rhine ... " A bashful pause, quietly unhooking her bra. Fingers trembling as he did so. From desire, yes. From uncovering her beautiful, luscious body. But also from the wine. From so many things so undeniably felt.
" ... not gonna tell, Ori," she soothed, whispering, smiling, eyes closing and then reopening." ... anyway, who cares if I'm breast-feedin' ya, huh? I'm still lactatin'. I got milk. You like my breasts. We need t'breed. Seems natural I'd end up nursin' ya ... sure we're not the only furs that's ever done that."
A quiet, flushed nod. "I know. I'm just, uh ... "
" ... you're a strappin' male otter," she teased, pegging the problem quite accurately, "not a demure male mouse. You're not used to bein' so very submissive, huh? And me givin' you milk is you bein' more submissive than usual?"
A few head-tilts, and an exhale. "Maybe," he admitted, still flushed. Letting the matter drop. He had her bra off now, and set it aside on the car-hood.
"Well, y'know I'm gonna have to stop soon. The milk. It's ... I'm gonna dry up. Wobby's to the point where I'm gonna wean 'im off me. He's got the baby food, an' ... stuff. Doesn't need me for, uh ... well, for that. Any," she breathed, "more."
"Milk or no milk, I'm payin' no less ... mm, no less ... less attention to your breasts," was his simple response, fondling the freed, furred mounds. An exhale. " ... mm. My water lily," he went, sighing, paws roving up and down her sides, now. He sometimes called her that. His 'water lily.' For she was as beautiful as a water-born flower, if not more so. Oh, definitely more so. With a scent so familiar to his nose. The scent of their bed-sheets and pillows, of comfort, or soft, warm hugs. Oh, his nose sniffed headily at her scent. " ... mm."
Rhine swallowed, clearing her throat, her black, diamond-shaped nose breathing in and out. Getting his scent, in return. Lips closing until she opened them to lick them. " ... Ori, y'never ... why'd we come outside, again?" Looking up, she thought she could see the beginnings of the Big Dipper. It was the only constellation she really loved. Her eyes always went to it first. It was as if God had loved soup so much that he'd made a really big ladle for it, and left it up there, like maybe the universe was a divine meal. Maybe it dipped into the stars and then poured them out. Maybe it was some kind of ethereal.
"Cause my brother an' your best friend are havin' sex in our kitchen ... already told ya." His tone was a bit impatient.
A giggling shake of the head, her focus returning to earth. "Yeah, but outside? I mean, why'd we come out, uh ... why'd we ... coulda gone," she finally managed, "to the bedroom or livin' room? Why we in the driveway?"
"You said to bring you outside." He caressed her bare belly, which was rising and falling with her staggered breaths. Her rich-brown pelt, built to be warm, to keep water off. So nice to feel.
A momentary frown. "D-don't remember that."
"Well, ya did. And I couldn't walk any further," Orinoco panted, "than the driveway here. I'm too tipsy. I can't even ... well, I can talk, obviously. But I'm not prone to walkin' right about, uh ... right now. I'd fall over if I didn't have the car and you to be leanin' into, so ... so I put ya here ... " His blunt-clawed paws so gently on her thighs, fingers splaying, running through her fur some more.
" ... heh. I'm polite, aren't I? I really am ... to be givin' them privacy in our house like that. I'm nice to my guests. "
A chuckle from Orinoco, eyes gleaming. Paws on the hood, body leaning forward. "S-scoot down a little. My, uh, hips can't meet yours from ... " A swallow. " ... you're too far up the hood."
A giggle-chirp, finding this amusing for some reason. Probably because of the wine. But, even without the influence of alcohol, one had to find it somewhat funny, at least: the sight of two otters hornily feeling each other up on the front of an automobile, to the scent of daffodils and the sight of stars. Way out in rural confines. " ... you even out o' your sheath yet?" She tried to sit up, to peer at his groin. Just able to see enough. " ... uh-huh. Silly question," she sighed, sultrily, giving a throaty almost-purr as she leaned back.
Orinoco flushed, nodding fervently. " ... scoot, scoot." His seven inch otter-hood was half out of its sheath, bobbing lightly from his slight swaying, the blunted head swollen and deep-pink, trailing strings of pre.
" ... scoot me for me," she said, with that ever-present otter-playfulness. That cheekiness. A heavy sigh. " ... could be a tongue-twister right there. 'Scoot me for me for sex'. How's that ... s-sound ... "
Without warning, he'd scooted her. Paws to her hips. Pulling her down. Her furred rump sliding down the hood of the car, and his hips nestling immediately between her spread legs. He panted, hips pressing, almost gyrating. The head of his otter-hood bumping against her silky, familiar vulva. " ... I, uh ... " A weak moan, bumping to her. Trying for penetration, but missing. His stiff member sliding up through her groin-fur, instead. " ... d-dammit."
" ... d-darling, calm it," Rhine managed, breasts rising and falling. Her throat dry. "Not goin' anywhere. I'm not goin'," she whispered, passionately, "anywhere. We both got hazy heads. Well, uh ... you got two of 'em. Heh." A giggle-chirp. But, trying to stay serious, she cleared her throat. " ... no, but ... calm down."
He nodded quietly, eyes closed. "I want ya so bad," was his unguarded, whispered confession. Raw and vulnerable, quaking with need.
" ... b'lieve me, I want ya, too," she answered, sighing heavily. Wondering if they sounded silly or sappy. And then decided that it didn't really matter. They were married. They'd had a baby together. They were tipsy. And it was, in addition, a calm, serene spring night, with the smell of goodness everywhere. They could sound however they wanted. At this point in life, they'd earned as much. Love and experience gave them that right.
He caressed her belly again, paws moving up, up, fondling at her breasts some more. Feeling each breast with care, with due attention, thumbs wagging over the hardening nipples. All while his hips lightly touched hers, otter-hood stiff and upright. He tried to get himself into her body again, having a hard time. Paws forced to leave her breasts so he could get himself into a better angle.
" ... Ori," she panted. Her paws grabbed at him, clutching his side-fur. Before her fingers splayed and she slid her paws round his back, pulling him down into a semi-hug. Her at the edge of the car's front hood, on her back, and him on his foot-paws in the grass and trampled-down rocks, knees against the bumper, body dramatically hunched over atop hers. Rhine sucked in air.
And he sighed blissfully out, finally slipping through her velvety folds, right into her femininity. Inch by inch, with a subtle 'squelching' sound. She was wet. She was more than ready. Oh, steamy, succulent tunnel of pure-pink, feminine muscle. "Oh ... gosh," he breathed, craning his neck, muzzle pointed to the heavens. Even in his tipsy state, he stuttered out an eyes-shut, " ... t-thank you, God." The pleasure was immediate and encompassing, the flesh of his essence coated, slicked, snugged by the sheer passionate heat of her body. He lowered his head and swallowed, breathing in through the nose. It always took him a few seconds to get over that initial 'shock' of sensitivity. That punch of pleasure. To adapt to it, to get used to it. To be able to force himself past it and into an even-better rhythm.
Rhine's breasts heaved, her loins filled, full of warmth, presence, pleasure. Full of masculinity. And, oh, the pleasure was shared, his shaft brushing every millimeter of her walls. The more he moved, the more she was touched inside. The more she was touched inside, the more his shaft was stroked. It was the most mutual friction ever known. The oldest, perhaps, in the history of the world. The push-and-pull of male and femme working as one. " ... uh." A breath. " ... uh."
Orinoco had begun to haphazardly hump, rocking her body, with gentle, tender pressure, making the car bounce subtly on its front wheels. Were they inside it, they'd surely have fogged up the windows by now. He had to smile at the thought. The smile lingering as he pulled back and pushed forward, his rudder-tail steering happily behind him, veering back and forth over the ground. It didn't take much effort. The pulling or the pushing. It was so, so easy. So practiced. He'd done this so many times before. Done her, rather. He knew her body like his own. Knew the wetness, the texture, the heat, everything. Knew how to make breeding as comfortable as possible. Knew how to best stimulate her clitoris through grinding his hips to hers. Oh, he knew her. Was knowing her. Oh ...
" ... oh ... k-keep goin'," Rhine sighed, with weak urging. A warmth pulsing in her groin, a sopping, rising something. She wasn't the best with words. She wasn't a writer or anything. And, so, didn't know how to describe such nice feelings. Only that they were oh-so-nice, and that was enough for her. She didn't need to dissect them, analyze them, study them. She just wanted to feel them. Fully. More. Oh, more fully, please.
Orinoco panted with exertion, his otter-hood, when it briefly left the natural sheath of her femininity, glistening in the pale moonlight, covered with her nectar. Droplets of which dripped, dripped from her vagina and onto the slick car-hood, dribbling down and off the front like how raindrops would. In addition to soaking Orinoco's tufted, drawn-tight sac a little.
Rhine, ever-increasingly bred into a joyous fog, wrapped her legs and foot-paws around his waist, writhing with him, arms more loosely around his back, panting, weakly moaning against her husband's neck and shoulders ...
... as she arched her bare, heaving belly, her back, too, gasping in squeaky, tingling orgasm. Tremors, spasms, flutters of her precious parts, her whiskers twitching, bushy, luxurious squirrel-tail flitter-fluttering between her back and Denali's broad chest. Her tail slightly sweat-matted, but still smelling, faintly, of strawberry shampoo from the last time they'd showered. He was on top of her, draped over her back, almost dog-like. A primal intimacy. Both of them bare on the linoleum of the kitchen floor, on all fours, like tipsy animals. Which, to some degree, they were. And the steps they'd taken to get to this point weren't entirely clear. Some chardonnay, some something. Something. And then this. But, oh, neither of them were complaining.
Denali, atop her, slumped and slowed, going lax on her back and sighing heavily, grunting with throaty, satisfied pleasure at each ejaculation. Sowing his wife's womb, though she wasn't in heat. And, even if she were, he wasn't a rodent. His seeds couldn't grow in her. But no matter, for it felt blissful, nonetheless, and he loved it, as he loved her. His arms securely around Ketchy's body, round her soft, warm belly, her hanging breasts, holding her snug to his chest, hug, hugging, with his moist breath washing over her nape. His eyes were half-open, otter-hood smothered with her nectar, at a hilt in her seeping honey-pot. "Oh ... oh," he breathed, residually, those rippling, fluttering walls of hers insisting on milking him for every drop of seed. " ... hmm."
Ketchy, head hanging, panted dizzily, eyes barely, barely open. " ... oh. Mm." A deep breath. " ... d-darling," she managed. Her paw-pads were a bit sweaty, and they slid on the linoleum of the floor. Slid an inch or two, before her fingers came together to stop them. She felt her knees shaking.
The otter swallowed. " ... yeah?"
Just a few chitter-squeaks.
Denali chuckled. "Heh. W-what?"
"I don't know," she replied, verbally this time. Barely able to nod. "Never felt quite that, uh ... um, uh ... " She licked her lips. " ... foggy?"
"Foggy?" he asked, licking her neck, sucking on her head-fur. Suck, suck, breath washing against her.
"Like we were breeding in a haze. Floating, almost, y-you know? Felt like we weren't on the floor. We were, like ... I don't know."
Smiling, muzzle very close to one of her angular ears, he whispered, "We're k-kinda tipsy." Sweet nuzzles of her. "We've made love when tipsy before."
"Yeah." A breath. "We have. Still, it feels ... felt," she corrected, "really, really nice."
"I should hope," he said, warmly, pulling his hips back. Giving a slight otter-chirp. Blowing out a heavy breath as his member flopped out. " ... uh, we might have to, uh, get a sponge?" he said. Half a question, half a statement.
" ... I'm sure Rhine doesn't want us," Ketchy said, smiling slightly, shaking her head as she twisted and flopped onto her back, "using her kitchen sponge to clean up stuff like that."
"A dish-towel, then. You're dripping."
The squirrel looked down, giggle-squeaking. As usual, his excess semen trickled back out of her. "Heh ... eh, yeah," she went, giggle-squeaking some more. "Well, you must make a lot. Lot of seed, you know?"
"I guess I'm just a very healthy otter," Denali said, grinning, trying to stand up. " ...whoa. Oh. Not gonna work, uh ... quite yet," he went, more seriously. "I feel wobbly."
Ketchy just nodded, staring at the ceiling. " ... so do I," was her eventual whisper. A pause. "Are we drunk?"
"Uh, I don't know. When's the line between tispy and drunk?"
"Um, probably," the squirrel reasoned, squinting, whiskers twitching, "when you can't stand up without feeling dizzy."
Denali chuckled at this. Finding it, in his current state, rather funny. " ... well, it can't be that. We can still mostly think and talk. Even if, uh ... we're stammering a little. Uh, like .. we're not sick to our stomachs. Not drunk. But, uh ... even so, we can't just lay here all night." His chest rose and fell, rose and fell.
"I don't even know it's the alcohol, to be honest," Ketchy said. "Might be the orgasm."
"Heh. Ketchy ... not like you to say something like that."
"Well, an orgasm like that's gonna make for a wobbly-legged fur. Takes a few minutes to recover from that." A pause. "Heh. Heh, uh ... I guess I could say you 'floored me.' Literally."
He chuckled heartily. " ... oh ... well, glad you enjoyed it, darling," Denali said, sitting up. Trying to, anyway. Succeeding. Head hanging a bit. A weak, little nod, rubbing his forehead with a paw. " ... what was that? Stuff? That we drank?"
"Chardonnay." A pause. "Australian stuff, I think. Was, uh ... really good." Earlier, she'd been sloshing it around her muzzle, trying to discern its taste. She remembered hints of vanilla and citrus, maybe, on the 'nose' of it. The smell. Almost sweet and creamy at the finish, with the taste that it left. She wasn't an expert, by any means, but she'd really liked it. " ... we'll have to get some for us. For at, uh ... at home."
" ... yeah. Sneaks up on you, though." A few blinks. The kitchen light had been turned off. It was mostly dim in here, save for the moonlight streaming through the windows over the sink and at the door.
"I think we both k-knew what we were ... uh, doing. Anyway, It was good," was all Ketchy repeated, sighing deeply, closing her eyes. She quietly breathed for a few moments, her rodent whiskers twitching. "I doubt they'll be able to make it back into the house, right?" she asked, of Rhine and Orinoco. "I mean, we have time. We can lay here for a while."
Denali, in response, just nodded and flopped back down next to her, blowing out air, taking one of her paws in his. "You feeling alright?"
"Aside from the ... "
" ... yeah, yeah, aside from, uh, all that." A pause and a swallow. "I mean, lately?"
"Of course," was her dainty, whisker-twitching whisper. "Why, um ... wouldn't I be?"
"Well, the other day, you know ... just wanted to make sure," the otter said, trailing. "I mean, you understood me, right?"
"I did," she assured, quietly, squeezing his paw in return. Eyes shut. Denali really wanted a baby. Ketchy wasn't sure, though, whether she wanted one. She did, but she didn't. Like, not yet, anyway. Maybe that was confusing. But he couldn't get her pregnant. They'd known this would be a problem before they'd gotten married, but they'd been too young, too much in love to care. And, even now, they had no regrets. They couldn't imagine living without each other. But they'd decided against adoption, just because Denali wanted their children to come, at least, from Ketchy. 'If they can't have any of me in them, I want them, at least, to have some of you. It's important to me,' he'd said, seriously. 'You'll live on in them. Our love will live on in the world,' he'd told her, poetically, 'through them.'
And she had to admit: the idea of that appealed to her so much. To both her instinct and her intellect. But, forgoing adoption, that meant artificial insemination. Which meant asking for a squirrel's seed. She didn't want a stranger's seed. But the only male squirrel Ketchy was friends with was Azure, who was married to Assumtpa, the snow leopard. They went to the same church as Ketchy and Denali did, also living in the farmland outside of Sheridan. And Ketchy, truth be told, was a little scared of Assumpta. And so on, so on. It was a complicated scenario to work out. One that she often fretted over.
She was afraid to ask them. Maybe they'd say no. Maybe Assumpta, being a predator, would react possessively. She had that way of staring right through you. That way of a huntress. But, if Ketchy was ever going to get pregnant, she was gonna have to ask. And, after all, she told herself, it won't be that bad. I mean, think of it this way: in the past, before all these fertility methods, all this technology? The only way for a femme in a true interspecies marriage (a rodent to a mustelid, for example, or a feline to a canine) to naturally have a baby was if, for all intents and purposes, she bred with a compatible male during her heat. Basically, to have an affair with her husband's permission. Just to get pregnant. Just to produce an heir. And, if it didn't work? She'd have to try it again during her next heat.
Furs in inter-species mate-ships had actually done it, though. For thousands of years, as found in everywhere from Old Testament stories to royal feuds in history books. Ketchy couldn't even imagine the kind of stress and jealousy that would've sown in any romance. For any male to let his wife sleep with another fur just so she could get pregnant. To have that other fur successfully sow her, and to know you could never do that. Wouldn't that make you feel deficient? And to wonder, maybe, if she'd enjoyed that male more than you? If they'd felt passion during that one time? No matter how you sliced it, a situation like that couldn't have been emotionally healthy. So be glad, Ketchy told herself, this isn't back then. Interspecies mate-ships aren't as hard today as they used to be. You have choices. You have options. You have time. There's really nothing to worry about.
Denali had, indeed, told her, 'You don't need to pressure yourself. I know you have been. We can wait a few years. I don't mind.' Ketchy had been relieved to hear that. And hoped that, eventually, she'd mature to the point where she'd be ready to be a mom. She really hoped so. Cause, despite all her doubts, she didn't like the idea of both her and Denali passing on without leaving anyone behind. To never have a family. But did she love children? Denali loved children. He loved holding them, playing with them. He always loved to play with little two year old Akira whenever they spent time with Field and Adelaide. Do I have the capacity, Ketchy wondered, to feel like that?
"You still here? Ketchy," he whispered, bare, strong chest rising and falling with his staggered breaths. He traced his paws over her belly, seeing she'd suddenly become lost in thought. Hoping to coax her out of it. "Darling ... ?"
A nod. "I'm alright. Just, uh, thinking. Or, uh ... well, as much thought as my mind will allow. Uh, it's ... " Pause. " ... I'm fine. Denali ... "
" ... yeah?"
"I love you." A soft, soft breath. "So much," she added.
The otter, eyes closing then peeking open, smiled. His head tilting toward hers. "Love you, too." His paw left hers, going to her hips, now, instead. "Just relax, okay?"
"What do you think I've been d-doing all evening?" she asked, with a helpless smile.
"Relaxing?"
An insistent nod. "Yeah."
"Well, that's true, but ... sometimes, you just ... " He trailed, not feeling as dizzy when he didn't move.
" ... what?"
"Well, sometimes, you're too hard on yourself. You, like ... " He blew out a breath. " ... convince yourself you're not as good as everyone else." A pause. "You're my wife. I want you to have confidence. Because you're, you know ... well, to me? You're desirable. You're smart. You're thoughtful. I just, you know, want you to know those things. Want you to believe that. Cause it's true."
Ketchy flushed, biting her lip. Giving him a close-by look. "For a tipsy otter, you're speaking awfully from the, uh ... well, deeply from the heart."
"Otters can be surprising like that."
"Can they?" was the tease.
"Mm. Mm-hmm ... " A sigh, stroking her belly. Going quiet for a moment.
Ketchy, breaking the silence, said, "Their kitchen smells different than ours. I mean, like ... Rhine cooks a lot. You can smell a 'cooking' smell. Baking. Heh ... eh, well, not that I can't cook. I mean, I make stuff."
"Muffins," Denali said, nodding, trying to hide a smile. His whiskers gave a singular twitch, his rudder tail angling between them. On top of her matted, glorious tail.
"Yeah, muffins. I make muffins. I make, uh ... corn muffins, bran muffins." Pause. "All kinds of muffins."
Denali just nodded.
"I make other things, though, right?" She looked to him.
"I eat every meal you make," he told her. "You know that."
"Yeah." A pause, looking back to the ceiling. "But I'm ... "
" ... a good cook. Good enough for me. I'm not a gourmet."
"I could have told you that," was her cheeky whisper.
A chuckle. "You're ... heh," he laughed. "You're lucky I'm not able to get up and wrestle you. Cause I would."
"'Wrestle' me? What's that mean, exactly? That a euphemism?"
"You, uh ... heh. You want it to be?" he responded.
Ketchy just giggle-squeaked and snuggled into him. Sighing happily, and whispering, "It smells like pizza, actually. That's what I wanted to, uh ... doesn't it?"
"That's what we had for supper. Pizza, celery sticks, carrots?"
"Mm." The squirrel nodded, remembering. And finally suggesting, "Let's wait a few more minutes and then, uh, try and clean up, and ... then lay on the couch, at least? There's a blanket on there. We can cover ourselves. Then shower, or ... "
Denali nodded, kissing her shoulder.
And Ketchy went quiet, eyes barely-open. And she smiled brightly.
Yawning, the squirrel shuffled into the kitchen, squinting in the morning light. The next morning. Wearing nothing but an extra-large t-shirt that went halfway down her thighs. Just enough to cover what needed to be covered. Though her big, bushy tail, arching as it did, lifted the back of the shirt a bit, so that her lower rump-cheeks could be somewhat seen.
Outside, songbirds could be heard. Red-winged blackbirds, too, with their sunny trilling. A light, blue-skied breeze looked to be stirring through the just-greening tulip trees. The chalky sycamores, too. The countryside went on for miles, with endless, just-planted fields, pastures. Open spaces, full of redemption, promise, and hope. Full of privacy and space to breathe. With gently rolling hills where the river had carved its path into. You couldn't hear the river from the house, but you could just see it. And almost smell it, too.
"Mornin'," greeted Rhine, with one of her playful grins. Looking over from the sink.
Ketchy just nodded, yawning. " ... ah," she went, whiskers twitching. A deep breath. "Yeah."
A giggle-chirp. "Sleep well?"
"Well, uh ... " Another half-yawn. " ... your couch is okay."
"Just okay, huh?"
"It's not a bed," the squirrel said, leaning over the sink, now, paws on the edge of it. "But it was nice enough," she added.
"Not the only thing I was referrin' to, but ... heh. Yeah. Probably better for snugglin' on than sleepin' on."
Ketchy just nodded, a little bit bashful as she said, "Thanks for letting us stay the night, though. Really."
"Like I was gonna make ya drive fifty miles back home? In the state you were both in?"
"Well, no, but ... "
" ... you didn't wanna be an inconvenience? Ketchy, ya weren't. Neither of ya were. We were the ones that invited ya over. And the ones that started pourin' the wine."
A giggle-squeak, and a nod or two, licking her dry lips. "Yeah." A pause, followed by yet another yawn. "You got any orange juice? I need it to wake me up."
"Ya don't like coffee," Rhine stated, with a remembering, nod. "Yeah, neither do I."
"So ... ?"
" ... mm?" the otter went, blinking, her roundish ears flat atop her head.
"Orange juice?" Ketchy repeated, tail flittering.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, we don't have any."
The squirrel made a chitter-face, angular ears cocked atop her brown-furred head. Nutty-brown fur.
"Heh ... that's cute. That face. Do that again?"
"No, I'm not gonna do it again. I'm gonna," Ketchy said, shuffling, big, bushy squirrel-tail flagging behind her, " ... gonna check your fridge for myself."
"We got grape juice," Rhine said. "If that suits your fancy." She watched the squirrel with amusement, leaning back against the sink, her rudder-tail jutting off to the side. "Always wondered what it'd be like t'have a tail like that."
"Like mine?" Ketchy asked, pausing, the refrigerator-door half-open. Scanning inside. " ... grape juice," she muttered, squinting, whiskers twitching.
"Yeah, well, it's so pretty an' all that. I mean, what better tail is there than a squirrel tail for glamour an' stuff, you know? Reminds me of old black-an'-white films. There'd always be that femme-fatale squirrel, and she'd always lure 'em with her tail."
"Yeah, well ... I'm sure predators were the ones writing and directing those films. Cause any prey would know that real-life squirrels aren't that vampish."
"Well, y'know what I mean. It's eye-catching. It's ... well, it's pretty," Rhine repeated, nodding. "Mine's just a rudder." A grin. "Good for swimmin', and for knockin' furs over when they frustrate you. Well, an' for massagin' durin' sex. Okay, so lots o' good stuff. But other than that ... " A giggle-chirp. " ... like, try drivin' a car with this thing sticking through the tail-gap in the seat. Y'always have to adjust it. It can get in the way. And ridin' a bike with a tail like this? Kinda impossible." A pause. "Though I'd think it'd be more of a risk for mouses to ride bikes. A tail like that gettin' caught in spokes? And they're so fragile, as it is." Another pause. "You could ride a bike, though ... "
" ... Rhine." Ketchy made an exasperated face.
"Heh. Sorry." The otter swallowed and took a deep breath. Unable to help herself from adding, "Not that I don't like my tail, is what I'm sayin'. I wouldn't trade bein' an otter for anything. Just sayin', is all."
"Well, I'm 'just sayin'," Ketchy mimicked, "that I'm not seeing any grape juice here."
"It's the white grape juice, not the purple." The otter wasn't deterred at all by any of the squirrel's waking-up grumpiness. But, then, Rhine wasn't deterred by much.
Ketchy just made a curious scrunch-face, and then nodded, finding it. And she grabbed the bottle with a paw and pulled it out, shutting the door. "I love my tail, but I'm telling you that you don't want it: the brushing, shampooing, drying. I spend at least an hour a day grooming my tail. I mean, not all at once, but ... you add up all the minutes per day that I spend on it," she said, trailing, approaching the cupboard near the sink, reaching up and bringing down a glass. A sigh as she screwed the cap off the grape juice container and poured herself a glass. Putting the cap back on the container and putting it back in the fridge before wandering to the table with her glass, taking a sighing seat. Her nose and whiskers twitching and sniffing, almost mouse-like. And, after all, squirrels were obviously rodents, too. But where mouses were full of 'scurry,' squirrels were full of 'scamper.' And there were distinct differences.
"Still think it's pretty," Rhine said, warmly. "Don't you feel proud of it, though? Doesn't it make you feel special? To have furs glance at your tail? I know they must."
Ketchy, blinking, peering over the rim of her glass, smiled back at her friend. Nodding in quiet admittance while she took a little gulp of juice.
Rhine just giggle-chirped and turned back to what she'd been doing. Which was taking frozen fish out of plastic bags taken from the freezer.
" ... fish," Ketchy said, unenthusiastically, sniffing the air.
"Fodder for an otter," Rhine quipped, grinning cheekily. "You should be used to it by now. Denali eats it a lot, doesn't he?"
"Yeah." Scrunching her muzzle, Ketchy's eyes glowed with mirth, trying not to fully smile in return. Otters were, indeed, extremely playful. And she would know, being married to one. They were just incorrigible, sometimes. Absolutely incorrigible. "Yeah, I know. I know. But ... I mean, I can't eat it. And the smell isn't the best for me."
"Ever try it with lemon and pepper?"
"That's not even the point. I can't digest any kind of meat. At all. And you know that," was the reply.
"You bein' a rodent and all."
"Mm-hmm." Another little gulp of grape juice, smacking her lips a bit. "I was worried I was gonna feel more groggy than I did, you know, after that wine. I drank a glass of water or two before bed, though, so ... plus, we didn't go to bed right after we drank. We snuggled, showered, and then you guys came in, and ... then we all chatted for a while."
"Yeah ... " Rhine was washing the fish, now, under the faucet. "It was fun. In a few more weekends, we'll have to do it again. Maybe at your house, next time." She reached for a knife to clean, to use for eventual cutting of the fish.
" ... Rhine, I really can't eat those," Ketchy said, quietly, almost pleadingly, holding her glass with both paws. " ... and, uh, I'm really hungry."
"I know," was the warm, insistent response. "I'm gonna fix you cinnamon toast an' fruit. Scrambled eggs, too."
A quiet, smiling nod. "Thanks."
"Heh. No problem. Though ya could help me out instead o' sittin' there and watchin' ... "
"I just woke up," Ketchy defended.
"I'm teasin' ya ... really, you're the easiest t'tease, y'know?" A giggle-chirp. "Enjoy your juice."
"I am. It's, uh ... well, it's juice," was all Ketchy said, nodding, almost finished with the glass. A sigh. "But Denali tells me that, sometimes."
A blink from Rhine, turning her head. "That juice is juice?"
A giggle-squeak. "No. No, that I'm easy to tease."
"Oh. Heh." A smile, and a nod, turning back to the fish. And turning the faucet off, setting the fish up on a cutting board, slicing them as she wanted to, and then moving them to a skillet. And shifting over to the stove. Rhine was dressed much like Ketchy was. Very casually, with only a nightshirt and panties on.
Which reminded Ketchy that, "I think my underwear's, uh ... uh, under Denali," she whispered, "somewhere. I'll have to wait 'til he wakes up to get it." A shy pause. "This isn't even my shirt."
"Yeah, it's Ori's. I put it on the coffee table for ya. Thought it might be more comfortable to be in, y'know, in the mornin'. I know I don't like to be fully-dressed right when I tumble outta bed."
"Yeah. I know what you mean," Ketchy said, nodding. "Thanks."
"Mm-hmm." The stove turned on, the otter sighed, blowing out a breath, waiting for the fish to start cooking. "Gonna be a few minutes. The smell, it'll wake 'em up. The boys."
Ketchy smiled, looking down to the tabletop, nodding. "Yeah. Probably."
"Well, can't blame 'em." A head-tilt, and another one of those trademark cheeky grins. "They worked up their appetites after workin' us up," she emphasized, "last night."
Ketchy smiled, biting her lip, saying nothing to that. Just giving a little nod. And saying, after a moment, "When you think about it, our husbands are obviously brothers, but ... they're really not that much alike. I mean, Denali doesn't even have an accent like the rest of his family."
"Well, that's on account of Denali and Ori's dad didn't have one, but Pearl does," she said, of Denali and Orinoco's mother. "I guess everyone else in that family took after her 'cept Denali. Must've taken after his dad."
"Yeah," Ketchy went, nodding. A pause. "I think you and I, though, we have a lot in common. I mean, neither of us have our families anymore, really." A small pause. "Our parents are gone. We don't have siblings. I mean, all we have is this family ... the one we married into. You know? The only difference is that you're an otter among otters. I'm a squirrel among otters."
Rhine quietly nodded at this. "Is that so bad?"
"No." A gentle, returned smile. "Took some getting used to. Not gonna lie about that. But it's ... no, it's not bad at all."
"Mm," went Rhine, rudder-tail steering behind her. Back and forth, back and forth. "Is that another one o' the things that worries you? 'Bout you an' havin' a baby? The 'no family' stuff?"
Ketchy's turn to give a quiet nod. "I worry that I'll have a child, and then ... something will happen to me. Me and Denali. And my baby will reach adulthood without a family. Just like I did." A pause. "It was so ... " She sucked in air, held it, released it. And stared out the window. " ... painful."
"I know. I felt it, too." A pause. "I'll just tell ya what I've told ya before: that pain is part o' the risk o' livin'. That God uses trials to force us into growth. And that, through growth, comes joy and knowing." A breath. "That everything happens for a plan an' a reason. Even if it doesn't make sense to us at the time."
The squirrel looked to the otter.
"I mean, if we didn't feel pain, we'd not be able to put joy into context, either. And, besides, there's nothing we can do 'bout it. We can lament. Or we can have faith."
"I have faith," was Ketchy's simple response. "I really do. I just, you know ... " She trailed, picking back up with, "Just have that 'rodent anxiety' thing, you know? I know that Christ saved me. That I've been redeemed for all my flaws. All my mistakes." She paused. "Sins." Her tail flittered. "But I still beat myself up about everything. You know, the 'I can be forgiven by others, but can't forgive myself' hang-up?"
"You were in bad relationships before Denali," Rhine said, nodding quietly. The squirrel had told her such things before. "You were in pain from not havin' your parents anymore, an' you wanted to be loved real bad. The desire t'be loved blinded you so that you would take any male ... even if he wasn't what you needed. Yeah?" A pause. "You just didn't ever wanna be alone."
The squirrel remained very quiet at that. Not quite answering as she said, " ... but, like I said, I've been forgiven. I know that." A swallow. "And I've been blessed with a life to live. Second chances and all." Another swallow. "I found love. I have a husband who won't leave me. And, after we're done here, there's heaven. If even death has no hold on me, than what is there left to fear?" A pause. "I shouldn't be afraid anymore."
"Well, like you said, you're a rodent. On some level, you can't help it. But, on another?" A breath. "Faith doesn't mean that fear goes away. It's a light to help pierce it. An' think of it this way: darkness isn't a thing in an' of itself. It's just an absence of light. The Light being God, bein' Jesus. The light being you. Us. Love. We need to be a presence of light, and venture into dark spaces unafraid. Because, with faith, wherever you go? The light goes." A pause, smiling. "Make sense? I'm not the best at, uh ... explainin' stuff."
"It makes sense," Ketchy whispered. "I think."
"You'll be fine," was Rhine's return whisper.
"How do you know?"
"For all the reasons I just said. An' cause I believe it. Cause that's what faith is." A pause. "Cause God loves you. And so does Denali. And so do I. Alright? End of the matter, right there. That's all y'need to know."
The squirrel flushed, eyes watering. She nodded quietly. And she let out a breath, swallowing, continuing, "Anyway, uh ... " She trailed, picking back up with, "Denali and I agreed we'd wait a few years for the baby thing. So that I'd be ready. And, uh, we'd have more money saved away."
"Sounds like a plan. When you do get pregnant, I'll give ya tips." A friendly smile. "Help ya know what to expect."
Ketchy, nodding, tilted her juice-glass to her lips, but it was empty.
"Need more?" the otter asked, padding forward.
"Uh ... sure," she whispered, nodding, smiling back at the otter. "Sure." A pause. "I take it we're not going to church this morning?"
"Eh, not this morning," Rhine said, opening the fridge and pulling out the grape juice again. "Well, we all had a late night last night, so ... takin' a week off's nothin' bad. I said my prayers this mornin'." A pause. "Think Ori and Denali's folks are comin' for lunch. They're gonna bring Wobby back. So, we'll all need to be dressed an' cleaned up by noon." It was nine-o'clock, now.
" ... yeah."
"You are stayin' for lunch, right? The both of you?"
"Course. Yeah, we'll go back this afternoon."
Rhine smiled and nodded, pouring the squirrel some more juice. "Feel like a waitress or something. Reminds me of a few jobs I had in Logansport, y'know, b'fore I married Ori."
"I never had to work in a restaurant," Ketchy said, nodding quietly as her glass was refilled. And picking it up, taking another healthy sip as Rhine put the grape juice container back in the fridge before returning to the stove. "Just the library and stuff."
"I always wondered if workin' in a library meant you had a lot o' 'stories'," Rhine said, cheekily, "to tell 'bout your work."
"Ha, ha," the squirrel dead-panned, eyes glinting. An eventual smile. Not able to hold the cheesy joke against her, being that she'd pulled a cheesy joke on Denali last night. "Well, it's interesting. I love having Adelaide there. She's very toothy." Ketchy and Denali were very close friends with Field and Adelaide.
" ... fish is grillin', now. Help me set the table 'fore the boys wander in?"
Ketchy smiled. "What about our clothes? We gonna stay half-dressed?"
"They're gonna want their fish and, after that, some good breedin'. And we're gonna wanna give it to 'em," Rhine said, honestly, grinning at the squirrel. "I think we're fine."
Ketchy giggle-squeaked, standing up and fetching some plates and forks. " ... incorrigible. Totally."
"If you want your scrambled eggs, you best not be meanin' that in a bad way."
Pausing, holding the plates and forks, Ketchy replied, "Not saying your otter-ness is bad. Just saying it bowls me over. It's a force."
Rhine, breathing in, smiled and nodded. And then sighed. "A force." She thought a moment, nodding some more. "I like the sound o' that."
Ketchy just giggle-squeaked and set the table, fully, widely awake, and grateful for the Lord's gift of this brand new day. The possibilities for love and life today being, as they were, beautifully endless.