Hungry For Love: Chapter One
Hungry For Love
This story is about a fur who has sunk low in the world, lonely, exhausted, and in dire need of a good friend. No yiff for now, but things will progress...
The horse ran a hand slowly through his greasy, matted mane, staring into the smeared mirror. "Shit," he muttered. That pretty much summed it up. He looked like hell, his short brown fur was ragged, dirty, and oily, and in his mouth lingered the aftertaste of stale beer. The horse gripped the sides of the unstable, chipped and worn porcelain sink, and studied himself intently. His face was long, a throwback from his original equine ancestors, but the large, dark bags under his piercing turquoise eyes were simply the result of his lifestyle. The horse had been a strikingly handsome creature at one time; now, all that remained of his masculine attractiveness was his eyes. He was young, only about 18, but years of drugs, alcohol, and servitude had taken a toll on him. His black mane, which had once been one of his many happinesses, now hung around his shoulders and down his back in limp, dirty strands. The tail that stuck out from the back of his stained jeans and hung to his heels was no better, tangled and filthy. His once-great muscles were being reduced to stringy cords of sinew that stuck out under his scarred flesh, which was pockmarked with many tiny dots and flaws, evidencing where he had aimed for a vein with a large, drug-laden needle, but missed. Already, his body called out for the naroctics that would ease its hungry tautness, reminding him just how low in the world he had sunk, but the horse ignored it, though he didn't know for how long he would be able to.
Shambling out of the tiny nightclub john, the equine scuffed his feet, encased in frayed Nikes, at the steps as he walked down them to join the crowd of dancing, shouting furmanity. He slipped between the gyrating bodies easily; no one cared, hardly noticing the slight, wasted form of the tired fur as he slid past them. The horse felt his pockets for money, patting the worn lining, and found that he had none. His muscles cramped, crying out silently for meth, the stuff he had been raised on, the stuff he was made of, and his mouth watered for the numbing properties that booze would bring. He slunk into a booth near the bar, and waited for the first customer, willing his aching body to relax enough to allow him to earn his keep this night.
The horse watched the first fur that strode up to the bar: a handsome male tiger, his muscles rippling with the unique strength of big cats. The striped feline ordered a drink and sat down in the booth opposite the horse. The equine studied the tiger out of the corner of his eye: young, which meant virile, and quite handsome. His experienced eyes traveled across the tiger's lithe form, and then met the questioning amber eyes. The horse did not blush, but held the feline's stare with a tiredly seductive one of his own. He knew how he looked, but he didn't care. He needed money for drugs, and this was the only way he knew how to get it. The tiger sipped at his beer, looked around, then stood and crossed the aisle to slide into the horse's booth, across the table from him. The equine smiled. "Lookin' for a good time, dude?" The tiger grinned. "No." The equine brought both dirty hands up onto the chipped Formica tabletop. "Whatcha here for, then?" He slipped a husky, low note into his weary voice, hoping to win the tiger over, but the predator simply gazed at him with a hint of pity, not lust, in his golden eyes. "I'm here for you." The horse nodded. "Fine by me. Buy me a drink, and we'll be on our way." The tiger took another gulp of beer. "I'm not looking for sex." The horse was puzzled. He tried a different tactic, realizing that the feline would have to be approached in another way. Smiling temptingly, he drummed his hands on the tabletop. "Listen, I'm skilled. I can make you feel as good as if you were with a fem." The tiger smiled back. "I doubt it." Now the horse was angry. "Then why don't you shift your ass and go find one, kitty? I don't have time for this; you're ruining the business." The striped feline flicked the end of his tail. "I'm here for you," he repeated---and sipped his beer in an apparently unconcerned manner. The horse stood up. "Fine. What the hell do you want? A blowjob? A rimjob? A handjob?" The tiger smiled up at the young stallion. "I'm here for you. Not sex, not a 'good time.' I'm here to make you happy."
The horse blew a frustrated sigh, and glared at the tiger. "You wanna know what'll make me happy? If you shift your goddamn ass and get the fuck outta here!" The striped feline pointed to the side of the booth opposite him. "Sit." The horse flipped him off and turned to go, but his muscles spasmed and he gasped. Clutching for the edge of the table as he sank to his knees, he encountered the warm and strong hand of the tiger. The feline helped him to his feet and sat him down the the spot he had indicated. "Are you okay?" The equine shook his head, spattering droplets of sweat across the tiger's muscular, white-tshirted torso. "I need a fix, man. Real bad. Can you gimme some money?" The tiger hesitated, then shook his head. "No. But I can help you." The horse gasped again, curling into a fetal ball on the worn red plastic seat. "AAAHHH!" he moaned, holding his stomach, as if he were in labor. The tiger looked around, biting his lip, then, bending down until he was face-to-face with the horse, he whispered, "Can you walk?" Panting and moaning, the equine nodded, in too much pain to speak. The tiger gripped him across the chest and lifted him bodily from the Formica booth, grunting with the effort. The horse leaned heavily upon the feline, slumping with pain, as the tiger helped him past the dancers and out into the cool night air of the city.
Unlocking the back door of his slick red Jaguar, the tiger helped the horse inside, then dashed around to the driver's side and slipped behind the wheel. The equine, almost unconscious with the pain, moaned, "Where are we goin?" The striped feline navigated the packed parking lot skillfully, then merged with the heavy traffic and sped up. "To my place. You need help, not drugs." The horse screamed with the pain, making his savior wince in sympathy. "I NEED METH, MAN!" The tiger turned down a side road, his red car gleaming like fire as it sped past a group of littlefurs playing streetball nearby. "No, you don't. You need food, and sleep." The horse began to protest, but his body cramped once more and he passed out. The tiger gritted his teeth and kept driving.
* * *
For four long, painfilled days, the equine curled in the middle of the tiger's large, soft bed, his jaw muscles locked and his eyes clenched tightly shut as his body shrieked and screamed for drugs. His eyes, nose, and mouth flowed with sticky, bitter mucus, gumming his face up and hindering his vision. Lights exploded before his vision; excruciating agony lanced through his pounding head. But above all, his howls and cries of utter torment echoed through the tiger's small city apartment, haunting and despairing. The striped feline sat with the horse for those four drawn out days, bathing the equine's fevered brow with cool, wet cloths, reassuring him in a gentle tone, and stroking the dirty brown fur quietly. When finally the flashbacks, the halluncinations, and the cries had ceased, and the horse had sunk into a absolutely exhausted sleep, the tiger stripped him of his filthy clothing and thoroughly washed his wasted body from eartip to tailend. When the equine awoke, the striped feline was there, ready to spoon warm carrot broth down his throat into his shrunken stomach and wipe his sweaty face. The tiger was there to help the horse to the bathroom and back, was there to bathe his forehead when the withdrawal pains started back up again, was there to flash whitetoothed smiles at the fur he had saved and make small talk. And, when the equine had fallen back into the warm black depths of sleep, the striped feline took the matted mane and tail into his hands, working shampoo and conditioner into it, combing through the thick tangles, straightening the long forelocks over the horse's handsome face, which had been sponged free of dirt. The lines that drew the equine's face tight loosened, softened, and soon disappeared, showing his savior just how young and attractive he was. The tiger curried the horse's short tawny fur to a bright, clean gloss, scrubbed the caked-on filth from under the equine's fingernails and from in between the lines of his hands. The horse, still quite fatigued from his terrible ordeal, lay quietly through it all, talking softly to the tiger, who responded cheerfully and smiled a lot.
The horse woke one morning feeling revitalized and refreshed. He sat up and yawned, tasting the unfamiliar freshness of minty toothpaste in his mouth, and scratched behind his ears, which, he noticed, with a sense of pride, were clean and well-pointed. Sliding out from beneath the covers, he realized that he was naked. A towel lay across the back of a nearby chair, along with a brand-new outfit and a note:
THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO SHOWER. WENT TO GET BAGELS AND COFFEE. BE BACK LATER.
The equine noticed that the tiger had not signed his name, but that was the least of his concerns. Tears filled his eyes, sliding down his smoothfurred cheeks, and for the first time since he had been two, the equine wept because of the love he felt from this unexpected stranger. When the tears had passed, he stood up, grabbed the towel and outfit, and left the bedroom, heading for the bathroom. Cologne, deoderant, toothpaste, a toothbrush, and other basic implements of personal hygiene lay waiting on the tiled counter, all new and unused. A bright green Sticky Note was fastened to the cologne bottle: a big smiley face. The horse drew a shuddering breath, taking a look at himself in the mirror. Gone was the greasy mane, the tired look in his eyes, the pain in his face. Although slight and skinny, the equine that gazed back at him was handsome and healthy, free of the strain that drugs had exerted upon him. He smiled, and then prepared to take a bath.
**
The tiger was waiting downstairs in the small kitchen for him when the horse finished, munching on a bagel and reading the Saturday morning paper as he leaned against the kitchen's bar. The striped feline looked up, and his eyes widened with approval as the horse walked slowly down the stairs. From the new blue jeans to the fresh muscle shirt, the equine more than met the physical masculine standards for attractiveness. Likewise, as the horse slipped into the kitchen, smiling shyly, he could not help but stare at his savior. The tiger broke the awkward silence first. "Hi." He nudged the box of bagels toward the horse and motioned to the bubbling coffeemaker that sat on the counter a few feet away. "Help yourself." The equine nodded, selecting a bagel, and poured himself a cup of hot, black, steaming coffee. The tiger watched him. "Milk and cream's in the fridge; sugar's in the cabinet." Again the coy nod. The equine, a little self-conscious at moving around so freely in a another's kitchen, quickly stirred cream and sugar into his coffee and leaned against the counter opposite the tiger. "Hi." The striped feline smiled. "Sorry I didn't introduce myself before. I'm Krian." The horse sipped at the fresh coffee. "Jake." The two sat in silence for a few moments, then Krian spoke. "Do you wanna talk about it?" The equine stiffened, almost dropping his mug at the soft tone in the tiger's voice, and then nodded. "Sure." He looked up at the ceiling. "What is there to say? I'm a druggie, or I was, I'm an alcoholic, and a compulsive chain smoker. I hang out at bars to give bis and homos a good time, and I live on the streets." He looked at Krian. "That about sums it all up: my life is a heap of shit and I'm at the bottom." Krian nodded. "What about your family?" Jake snorted. "Don't have any; don't want any." The tiger sipped at his coffee. "Mmmhmm. But you weren't always like this, were you?" Jake looked away. "Since I was seven." Krian stared hard at his new friend. "Seven?" Jake nodded, still not looking at the tiger. "Yep." They sat in silence again, and the horse cradled the mug of coffee in his calloused hands, enjoying the warmth. Krian again broke the silence. "Were you forced into this?" Jake put down his coffee and cupped his head in his hands. The tiger put down his own mug and moved closer, alarmed that he had made his new friend act this way. The horse sank down onto a barstool and put his head down; Krian had to strain to catch his words.
"When I was a colt, my life was a lot like it is now. No money, no father, and a single mother who was hooked on LSD, trying to take care of all three of us. It was hard enough, moving from town to town so my mother could hook to get the money that would buy her drugs, but when she got high, she would beat us." Jake heaved a shuddering sigh, aware of Krian's warm hand on his shoulder. "One night, I couldn't take it anymore. I just couldn't. I left. I was seven then, and I struck out for my grandmother's, somewhere in Chicago." Jake laughed mirthlessly. "We lived in New York. I had no chance. I ran into a truck driver about six miles from home, and he let me ride with him. But when I tried to get off at his next stop, he forced me into the back of the truck with the goods he was delivering. When we were alone, he raped me, over and over again. He told me that no one would ever find me, that I was as good as dead if I told a soul, and all the other crap that rapists tell their victims. I was terrified and in a good deal of pain, so I said nothing." Jake let the tears flow more freely. "Nothing, for the next four years. That bastard took me with him to every truck stop, and I became his whore. When I didn't bring in enough money for his booze, he beat me, just like my mother used to, and threatened to kill me if I didn't work harder. He introduced me to meth and other stuff like that, taught me how to shoot up and sniff. When I was eleven, I escaped from him and struck out on my own, eating shit from dumpsters and hooking in all the nightclubs. Everyone wanted the cute little colt, so I brought in more than enough money to buy my drugs, but I was being stalked. One night, after servicing about fifty furs, I was mugged and robbed. This happened more than once, and as I grew, sleeping under bridges and stealing to get my meth, furs stopped wanting to use me. They all wanted the new kids that were coming through." Jake sighed through his tears. "I've been on the streets for eight years since that, hooking and shooting up. That's my life."
Krian patted his friend on the back. "It's not your fault, Jake." The equine looked up into the tiger's sympathetic face, and managed a weak smile through his tears. "Thought I'd never have a friend." Jake wiped his face, laughing slightly, and threw his arms around Krian's neck impulsively. The tiger hugged him back tightly, and the two held each other for a while. Krian told Jake about his own life. Although it had not been nearly as bad as the equine's, the striped feline had grown up in an abusive home as well, but had gone to live with his grandmother when he was six. He had chosen never to do drugs, smoke, or drink, knowing that he could have a good time without those things.
Jake broke the embrace first. Smiling, he asked, "I suppose you have a girlfriend?" Krian shook his head. "Nope. I don't care for femfurs." The horse grinned, and the tiger beamed back. "You can stay with me, Jake, for as long as you want!"
**
The next day, Jake went to the gym, and every day after that, falling into a happy routine of workouts, a new job, good food and even better sleep, and always, Krian's presence. The tiger was always ready to crack jokes and go out for ice cream; like littlefurs, they'd play ball in the street and wrestle in the park, returning some of Jake's lost colthood to the equine. Krian was impressed by the change in Jake. The horse regained his brawny, musclebound body, his mane and tail grew out, and he became healthier. The tiger congratulated him on this, and soon after, Jake quit smoking and drinking. He enrolled himself into Krian's university, Furtopian University of Furs, or F.U.F. Their lives together were happy and blissful, and, although they were both homesexual, they didn't sleep together. . . yet. Krian wanted Jake to feel totally at peace with him before they went any farther than kissing and touching, and, for the present, Jake was okay with that.
To Be Continued. . .