FSE

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Good God, what the hell have I done? I woke up with my arms around Jesse, which as nothing new, but the fact that we are both naked is. I jerk away from him and find my boxers down around my ankles and the fur on my sheath stiff with what can only be cum. What the fuck happened?

I try to remember, but I may have helped myself to more than a couple of glasses of Clyde's wine while I was waiting. I hadn't thought I was drunk, but now, especially since the memories that I have can't possibly be real, I'm not sure.

Jesse wakes, rolling over and looking up at me with his big, green, trusting eyes. Then he smiles. "Good morning," he says and yawns as he stretches. "Oh, now I'm feeling it. I hope we don't have to go anywhere today 'cause I will be walking funny. Is it okay if I use the shower first?" he asks as he pushes the covers back and finishes pulling off his thong.

"Uh, no, go ahead," I say, staring nonplussed as he gets up and hobbles into the bathroom, scratching his balls as he goes. I don't feel hungover. Maybe I'm still dreaming. I pinch myself to be sure. It hurts. Nope, no such luck.

I climb out of bed and look around for my shirt. I find it on the floor, smeared with dried cum, as though we really did use it to clean up after. But after what? The blissfully consensual sex that I remember, or the drunken, half-asleep humping that probably happened? I pull on a pair of jeans and start to head out to the kitchen to get the coffee brewing, but stop in the hall, the sound of running water and Jesse's voice -- a rich tenor and surprisingly on-key -- singing 'Call Me Maybe' in the shower, coming from behind the closed bathroom door.

I hesitate, then step over to the knock and rap my knuckles against the wood. "Jesse?"

"It's unlocked," he calls with barely an interruption in his singing. I open the door and step inside. "I thought you might need to use the bathroom before I was done. Just don't flush, okay?"

"That's not why I'm here," I say. "I think I owe you an apology."

"For what?" he asks.

"For what happened last night. For taking advantage of you. I'm not really sure what exactly happened, but obviously I--"

"You don't remember?" Jesse asks, pulling aside the shower curtain far enough to frown at me.

"I...I might have been a little drunk."

"You didn't seem drunk."

"I didn't feel drunk, but I had a few glasses of wine at Clyde's and it's the only explanation for what happened."

"Oh, it is, is it?" Jesse says, flicking the curtain closed again. "That's just what every guy wants to hear, too -- The only reason I fucked you was because I was drunk. Thanks."

"That's not what I meant. I meant it's the only explanation for these weird memories that I have. The first thing I remember is waking up with my dick already in your ass, and then you said you needed me to do you a favor. You asked me to fuck you, as a--"

"A professional courtesy," Jesse says, taking the words out of my mouth. "I told you that Clyde had left me all wound up and as my manager, it was your job to take care of it. Yeah, I was there, too. What part are you having trouble remembering?"

"Nothing, I guess," I say after a moment. "I just...I thought I had to have imagined it."

"Well, you were half-asleep," Jesse says, not sounding quite so angry. "I'm sorry for taking advantage of you. It won't happen again."

I hesitate. I should just leave it at that and let him make that promise. I don't want to get involved. He'll break my heart, I just know it. But-- "You don't have to say that," I say, silently cursing my own weakness. "You're right, I'm your manager, and it's my job to take care of you. Whatever you need."

"Oh...okay," he says after a moment. "As long as you don't mind."

"Nah, it's fine," I say and force a laugh. "Why would I mind? It's just business...right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Jesse says. "Now, how about you be a good manager and hop on in here and wash my back?"

I picture Jesse in the shower, his silky white fur all wet and sudsy, his naked body on display, and I feel my cock start to harden in my sheath. "How about I go start breakfast instead?"

"That works, too," he says with a laugh. I leave the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me, and head out into the kitchen, trying to ignore the knot of worry that has formed in my gut. I didn't like it when Jesse acted afraid to be around me, but I think I'd almost prefer it to this friendly teasing and flirting. At least when he was scared of me, I didn't have to worry about doing something stupid and getting my heart broken.

I put water and grounds in the coffeemaker and turn it on, watching carefully to make sure it doesn't start smoking. It does, sometimes, and burning coffee grounds is a stink that takes days to go away. Yeah, it's a piece of crap, but hey -- I found it in an alley, so I really can't complain. It looks like everything is working properly and I turn to the fridge, pulling the door open and peering inside. The shelves are almost empty. Maybe if Jesse feels like it after his shower, we'll go to the grocery and buy some real food, like steak, and eggs, and bacon, and Jesse can get fresh vegetables, instead of bruised and wilted leftovers. Yeah, I could get used to having money.

A noise echoes through the kitchen and my ears swivel toward the sound. It's a familiar sound, and yet it takes me a moment to place it. The cell phone. I walk over to the counter, where the phone sits, half buried beneath a newspaper from last week. I pick it up, unsurprised to see no caller information. Another blocked number. Maybe it's Clyde again.

"Hello?" I answer, deciding to keep it simple this time, no smarmy manager spiel.

"Yes, I'm looking for Violet. Is he available?" asks a refined male voice with a faint English accent. International clients? I suddenly can't remember if I put a general location on the website. I'm sure as hell not flying to England so some rich guy can bang Jesse.

"This is Violet's manager," I say. "My name is Carson. Can I help you?"

"Perhaps. I'd like to arrange a meeting so we can discuss business."

"All right. When did you have in mind." Not tonight...

"How does tonight sound, around eight o'clock at Meryn's? It's a bar on Fifty-eighth Street."

"Tonight...at eight..." I repeat, glancing toward the hall. I can still hear the shower running. "Yes, we can do that."

"Very good. I'll see you at eight then, and you can call me Joseph."

"Wait," I say before he can hang up. "Just one quick question: what species are you?"

"Does it matter?" he asks, his voice suddenly cold.

"No, just curious," I say quickly.

"That's good, because I don't do business with speciesists. I'm a snow leopard. What species are you?"

"Fox."

"Now that that's settled, will I see you at eight?"

"Of course."

"Then good-bye."

He hangs up and I sigh. Jesse is going to kill me.