FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Story by yours truly; artwork is by Lumi.

It's good money. It's fun, and it sure beats flipping burgers. It's not something you really talk about with your friends or your dad, so getting ahead in this business takes some ingenuity. Coded online ads, hanging out in a seedy arcade, scouring profiles on hookup sites...

Most often, and I really didn't expect this when I started hustling, it just happens. A private moment, a hint, a nudge... How many guys have tried to test the waters with me before I was wise enough to read the signs? An innocuous bump against my hip on a crowded subway, a simple question "You got the time, kid?" I feel like an idiot now for wasting so many opportunities just because I was too clueless to realize these men wanted a piece of me.

Not any more.

The library, of all places. An empty men's room, five free urinals, but from the moment he walks in the door, I know he's heading toward the one right next me. The pace is measured. It's subtle, but there's something predatory about it, even though he smells like a hoofer.

I'm finished, but I don't zip up. That's my part done; an open invite for him to make a proposal. Both of us look straight ahead, studying the wall, while he slowly tucks down his zipper and pulls out something that sounds pretty substantial. He's not pissing, but in the quiet men's room I hear the soft patter of heavy, thick droplets hitting porcelain.

And that's it, for ten full seconds. He's a shy one, this guy, expecting me to make the next move. Dude, I'm still standing here, just idling while you're stroking your junk! What more confirmation do you want from me? Just ask, already. Jeez.

Fine. Whatever. I can play nice. I reach out, quietly and slowly. My fingers brush against his, pushing his hand away from what he's holding. It feels good in my hand, sweat-slick, hot, and pliable. It throbs under my fingers, hardening. There's a firm flex and a small squirt of wetness splashes the bowl in front of him.

"Twenty?" he whispers. Fucking cheapskate. His voice is pinched, as if he's worried the CIA is spying on us via satellite-uplink cameras hidden in the fucking spigots. I stare straight ahead and, after a few second's thought, give him three strokes. Base to tip and back again, dragging my fingertips over the underside. "Christ... fifty?"

I just keep him in my hand, and now I look at him. A buck, with a neatly groomed rack of antlers. Handsome fucker. Fortysomething. Working man. Not a newbie, but he hasn't picked up boys often, that's for sure. At least he doesn't look like an asshole. I lock eyes with him, stick out my tongue and run my lithe, pink tongue over my thin, black lips. I withdraw it, closing my lips and swallow, bobbing my Adam's apple.

He grins. I've got his attention. There's a soft wet sound as the head of his heavy cock thumps against the cold porcelain of the urinal, and with a squeeze, I lift ti up for him. Thoughtful, that's me. Devil's in the details, don'cha'know.

"One fifty."

Definitely not his first time. My kinda guy. He knows where this negotiation is headed and decided to skip ahead. I'm not gonna toy with him. A fair client deserves a fair deal. We both know what he'd get for a hundred, and we both know that one little extra guys crave when they hire me for that, costs extra.

I reach into my pocket, slowly, sucking in my lean tummy so he can see. With two fingers I sneak out a square of silver foil, with a circular bulge, and Trojan XL printed on it. I hold it up to him and in the space of two seconds he looks hopeful, disappointed, resigned and very, very horny. Dad didn't raise me to be a cheat, though. I flick the condom, sending it sailing over his shoulder, and crack a practiced smile.

The arm he puts around my shoulders, warm and strong, tells me we've got a deal.

One thing about this business: if you can take the lead in choosing time and place, do it. I don't give him a chance to ask my name, or tell me his car's out back and he doesn't live far. Then I'd have to stop him and negotiate some more, talking about hourly rates, requiring a lift back into town -- besides, I have a test tomorrow and I came to the library to study. If I take two hours giving this guy his jollies the place'll be closed and God knows what I'll have to do for Mr. Matthews to get a passing grade. For free, too.

I head toward the farthest stall, dragging my John by his throbbing, drooling dick. He likes the initiative, popping the back button of my boxers as he follows me. In the stall, I let go of his cock. Flip the lid down on the toilet seat, drop my backpack over it, put my hands on the tiled wall and face the plumbing.

The outer door opens and my customer slams the stall door shut behind us. I see a panicked look when I glance over my shoulder, so I give him a reassuring smile. Whoever came in is at the sinks, washing his hands. I rest my knees on the toilet lid and lift my feet, so anyone peeking would only see my dude's big shitkicker boots. My ankles press against his thighs, tugging him toward me. No reason to hit the pause button just because there's people around. I'm on the clock, here.

You should have felt how hard that made him. Reaching behind me I stroked his cock. He slides my boxers down, my shorts too, exposing my money-maker. I wondered if he's ever had someone my age before because he sure likes feeling me up, kneading, trying not to pant too loudly.

Someone else comes in. Now there's two people in the men's room with us and, turns out, they know each other. They're my age, both of them, and discuss the shocking news of Shelley dumping Brad and what they need to cover for Mr Matthews' test tomorrow, and okay, I didn't plan to actually get hard, but that last part has me tenting the front of my boxers. These kids are in my class, studying and they came here for the same reason I did. Except neither of them got sidetracked by a horny male to make a quick one-fifty on the sly.

Johns normally don't care about that side of me and I try to leave it alone as much as possible while I'm working; being horny and on edge makes you a better lay, while getting off leaves you tired and less likely to be able to take another customer later that night.

But pressing some stranger's unprotected dick under your tail while two classmates shoot the shit just on the other side of a half-inch divider -- you can't blame me for rocking a woodie at that. My dude has a nice drippy one too, so no need to crack a pack of lube. Saved me seventy-five cents, right there.

Christ, he's thick. I hadn't planned to be working today so I hadn't used my toys before heading out. Normally I might stall a bit, give him some head to give myself time to do some warm-up with my fingers, but dammit, my hormones demand I get that fat sweaty slab of meat up my ass while my classmates are still chatting by the sinks.

Oh yeah. Oh *yeeeaaah*, there we go, that's the ticket. Stings like a bitch, but feeling that fat fucker squeak into me is so worth it. He's having a real hard time keeping quiet, but I need more. I reach back until my hands find his hips, I pull, he pushes. He gets the message, and doesn't need my help any more. Releasing my hold I wrap my arms around the toilet's reservoir, pressing my cheek against the cool tiled wall, biting my lip not to moan as inch after thick, slick inch pushed inside me.

My tongue lolls. I can't help it. I must look like a dog, hugging the reservoir, drooling on the tiled wall, tasting detergent. But, fuck it, you don't voluntarily start selling your ass to strangers unless it excites you -- we'll, maybe you *start* if you need the cash bad enough, but you sure as shit don't keep doing it unless it turns your crank.

Turns his crank, too. He's lunging into me, holding his breath and gritting those flat, herbivore teeth to keep from making a sound. His antlers tap the divider now and then, but it's too irregular for either of us to worry about it.

It hurts, I ain't ashamed to say it. He was in me too quick, I didn't prepare before I went out, but that's okay with me. Cost of doing business and honestly, it's a thrill by itself. One illicit sex act, two very different experiences. Asymmetric intercourse. Now there's a topic for an essay!

That'll have to wait; my customer is about to pop. I roll my hips side to side corkscrewing his cock inside me. By the tightening of his grip on my firm, lean hips, I'm guessing he likes that -- there he goes.

He sucks in a breath. I bite my forearm to keep quiet. I feel his dick pulsing inside me, warm cream soothing the burning ache of a too-hard, too-quick fuck. His balls lie heavily against mine, the teeth of his zipper bite into my cheeks.

Apparently Lara has been dating Barton since Jeff got expelled for selling weed, which is so unfair because McDonagh has been selling skank shit for way too much money and he never gets busted, while Jeff's dope was the shit.

My guts feel nice and warm. Slowly, carefully, my dude rests his chest on my back and exhales against my ear. I love this part. Catching our breath, feeling him inside me, spitting the last of his load. The comfortable afterglow of a job well done, before he clean up, straighten ourselves out and hurry away.

"Ffffuck yeah," he whispers. "Worth every dime."

Don't you love pillow-talk?