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"I'm sorry, Kevin...I still just...can't."

"Why NOT?! I'll help you through anything you need! I know it's hard but I can HELP you..."

"I can't! I just can't, okay?! It's easy for you to say, your mom understands! My parents...I live in fear of them, all the time, and it's just DIFFERENT. They'd never understand and...and I don't even know if I do."

"What does that even mean? You're gay, it's okay! Who cares?!"

"I care, Kevin! It's my life and I...I'm just really confused, and I'm scared, okay? It's different for me, you've gotta understand."

...

"...Connor....don't you...don't you want this?"

...Breathing.

"I don't even know anymore."

Somehow the sting of whiskey on my tongue never dulled the sting of that phone call in my mind.

* * *

I opened the door of my apartment, feeling remarkably sober and even somewhat presentable. I was wearing my best jeans and the comfortable blue flannel that I liked so much. Decent pair of work boots too, though not the ones I actually wore to work. Trying not to look "too" anything. Too casual, too slovenly, trying too hard, too armored, too...gay.

The otter standing just outside was so incredibly familiar and so incredibly alien. His usual hoodie now bore the insignia of his alma mater. His water-blue eyes were now more modestly rimmed by smaller, professional-looking glasses. Yet his awkward stance with one hand apologetically rubbing up and down the other forearm hadn't changed a bit. Seeing him again, so new yet so old, was like taking a shot of straight vodka. It was bracing, warming, somehow comforting, yet vaguely unpleasant...and it carried the lurking promise of a loss of control and a headache the next morning.

My tiger-grin was a little out of practice, but it still fit on my face. "Hey there! Come on in!"

His smile was genuine also, if wary. "Hey, Kevin."

I held the door open and stepped aside. "Long time no see, heh," I offered lamely, closing the door after the otter sidled inside.

"Yeah I know. I'd always meant to keep in touch more but, you know...keeping busy, I'm sure you have been too..."

"Well I guess you could say that...and I understand, it's no problem. You have more important people in your life to tend to now, right? Oh, just, put it on the table, thanks man!"

Connor didn't reply to my comment, which had sounded more wounded than I really meant it to, and set down the six-pack of brew he'd been holding.

"Steaks are almost done, you can have a seat while we're waiting."

"Thanks." He pulled a chair out from the small table and sat in it warily surveying my tiny kitchen. I noticed his eyes wandering, and also didn't miss the hand nervously rubbing his forearm either. He never did completely lose that apprehensive attitude, even around me. I should have known.

Checking the steak in the searing pan, I casually asked, "So how is the wife and all?"

"Terry's great, she's finishing grad school this year. When she does we're thinking of getting a house, maybe even...moving back here."

Ssssssss. I flipped one steak, then the other. "Sounds killer, you're doing well for yourself. And I hear graphic designers are in high demand!"

He laughed at that. "I keep getting work, but that's about it. Hopefully Terry will get a steady teaching gig when she graduates and that will help out a lot with the house."

I set up two plates by the stove. I had bought them just for this occasion, since I never bothered with having actual plates before. Or any other flatware. Plenty of glasses, though. And bottles. Most of which I had stowed in the cupboards earlier today, in preparation for my visitor.

I'd still lie to get a smile.

"...You been keeping afloat too?"

Yeah. I do a lot of floating lately. "Yup! My English major didn't do me a lot of good. Guess that means I'm just overqualified to be a construction worker, right?"

I saw the otter smirk. "Hard-hat by day, poet by night?"

"Never was much of a poet. At least my lyrics haven't been nominated for the Pulitzer yet."

"Oh yeah, you told me about your band in our emails...I'm glad you found one!"

"We've been doing shows lately, though we stay local because of our jobs. Last year we finished our second album with a new drummer, got a couple offers from small labels. We're strictly third-rate, but it's really just a hobby anyway. Death metal doesn't make you millions." Or hundreds.

"That's still good to have though...uh what did you say you guys were called, Ex...?"

I chuckled. "Exploitation. All the REALLY brutal one-word names ending in t-i-o-n were already taken."

Another laugh from Connor. "If I ever need to scare Terry maybe I'll order your CDs. I'd love to hear what you're doing."

"Thanks man, we do appreciate any support. Even if it's for the purpose of frightening of spouses. Hmm...'Frightening of Spouses' wouldn't make a bad song title..." I flipped the steaks out of the pan and onto the plates as I jokingly mused. It'd been a very long time since I'd cooked, and I hoped I wasn't being too basic. To each platter I added some mashed potatoes I'd whipped up. Deep breath. Casual. Catching up with an old friend.

"Sorry it isn't much. I'm no cook." I sat the plates down on the table opposite each other.

"No, it's great, I appreciate anything that gets me out of my parents' place for an evening, especially since Terry didn't come with me this time. Even when I'm just home for a couple days to visit after being out of the state for most of seven years, they're still...who they are."

"Well be glad you still have them, even if they're...difficult," I said just a little ruefully as I sat down with two glasses.

"I'm sorry about your mom, Kevin. That's...awful."

I grimaced apologetically. "It really hurt, she was always there for me. My brother isn't around much and the funeral was the only time I'd seen my dad in the last ten years."

I figured this was getting a little dark, so I wrapped it up and grabbed a beer from the six-pack. "But I'm through the toughest time. Thanks for bringing this! Go ahead, dig in, let me know how it is. How's your family?"

"Same as always mostly. My youngest sister is about to graduate college, then we'll all be done. My parents are so happy I found Terry." He stopped there, and looked at me, and when I looked up it was right in my eyes, just like he always used to do all those years ago when he was trying to gauge my intentions or my reaction.

I managed a weak smile. "I am too."

At this point the unspoken subtext in our conversation overwhelmed the conversation itself, and we both conceded to a vaguely uncomfortable silence. I cut my steak, which was not bad considering the circumstances of how it was made, and took swigs of the beer Connor had brought. A little light for my taste, but I appreciated the gesture.

I guiltily stole glances at the otter while we ate and I didn't think he was looking up. He looked much the same as he had in high school, though a bit thicker in the neck and arms. His lighter-brown headfur was neat and straight, but still short. Seeing how he'd grown up yet stayed the same gave me a pang in my throat. He looked so similar to the Connor I'd fallen in love with almost eight years ago...and even closer to the Connor that had made me regret ever doing so not so long after.

First and last time, so far.

Oh, we're young...and we'll find a way to love again...

Lately I'd been feeling like it was too late for everything. The world had already settled around me. Everything was already somebody else's.

I'd seen the pictures of Connor and Terry on his Facebook. Dark brown otter, creamy tan puma. She was taller than him. They were beautiful together.

There were no pictures up of me with that wolf Dan from college, or even the German Shepherd, Frank, that had lasted a couple years. I had even taken him home for Thanksgiving once, before Mom died. Dan had commitment problems.

Frank hadn't liked my drinking.

We both finished our modest dinner with the help of two beers each. I put the plates in the sink and got out a couple smaller glasses and a half-empty bottle of Crown. "You want something a little...stiffer?" I asked Connor, gesturing to him with the bottle and not missing the awkward undertone of my question.

"Um, no thanks, I'll have another beer and leave it at that I think."

"Sure." I poured some of the hard amber liquid over the ice in my glass. Set the bottle down, took a sip. Flicked my tail but didn't wince. "Wanna head to the living room and sit down?"

"Yeah, sure. I've got a while."

I led the way through the tiny hallway into the sitting area. I only had a couch and a TV in there. I sat on the far end of the couch, and noticed that Connor didn't separate himself from me all the way, choosing instead to gingerly lower himself down near the middle of the couch, facing me with what looked like concern in his eyes. I cringed. I'd hoped he wouldn't figure a lot of things out, but that look said at least a few of them had gotten through to him. I slowly raised my glass to my face again.

"It IS good to finally see you again, Kevin."

I tipped my drink back and my tongue darted out of my mouth for a second after I lowered it; it was a larger mouthful than I'd intended. "Yeah, I'm really glad you could come. I don't have too many visitors...or old friends."

He wasn't looking at me, but at the bottle in his hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't in touch for a while there...I needed to think."

I was fully leaning on the armrest of the couch. My head slumped down at his words and my ears flattened. "I understood. It wasn't easy for me but...I pushed you once, and I didn't want to do it again."

I heard him snuffle slightly. "I don't respond very well to that, do I?"

Another rather large sip. "I...just want you to be happy. I did then, I do now." I lost the nerve to ask him if he was happy now. I shifted and pressed into the armrest a little more.

Connor stood up and placed his half-full beer bottle on the small table the TV sat on. "I know it may be hard for you to believe, but..." He resumed his place on the couch, just as boldly close as he'd been sitting before. His voice was lower now. "I do want the same for you, Kevin."

I cowered on the end of the furniture, looking away from him and squished as far into the armrest as I could be. It was too late for this. All of it was too late.

He didn't give any warning except that when he leaned in he gently took hold of the glass in my hand and pried it away. Setting it on the floor, that hand went to my chest. In fact, BOTH of his hands were on my chest. They were pushing. I was turned toward him now.

"I know this won't make up for everything I have to...but...consider it my apology. And..." He swallowed and breathed deeply. "And as something I know I want. Now I know."

One of his hands on my chest pushed me down against the armrest. I let it happen. My legs went up on the couch. He was lying on top of me.

I wish I didn't want this.

His hand trailed down my stomach, and he didn't waste any time firmly grabbing the front of my jeans. A quick but tight squeeze and then he was fiddling with the button. He was lying to the side of me, against the back of the couch, and I couldn't stop that arm from rising up behind him and wrapping around his shoulder.

He got the button on my pants open, and the zipper soon followed. Flipping himself over me to kneel on the floor, he worked my jeans down, and my boxers with them. I didn't stop him and in fact lifted my body up a little bit so he could expose me to the dull light of the room.

When my pants were fully off and set by the foot of the couch, Connor ran his hand back up my leg, smoothly continuing on and wrapping his hand around my testicles. I breathed in when he did so, and he looked at me, right in the eyes. "Is...this okay?"

I swallowed and flicked my tongue out and in once; it was already a bit fuzzy from the beers and whiskey. "It's just...been a while for me..."

Another gentle squeeze to my ballsack, making my dick pulse and tense. God, why did it have to feel so good when I knew all it would do is open this old, old wound? I hated thinking "Why is he doing this to me?", especially since I was being so docile and letting it happen. Classic case of thinking you know what will help the other person. This wasn't the first time us two had had one of those.

Connor's other hand slid up my belly under my shirt. He kept going, releasing my genitals be able to lift my upper garments up. The shirt and the flannel became tangled together in the sleeves as he removed them simultaneously, but I was too busy blushing, almost embarrassed at being completely naked in front of him now, to notice much.

Now he turned his attention back to my begging erection, which at this point I was becoming ashamed of since my cognitive thought had had some time to kick in. We had never even gotten this far again back in high school. After we'd been hanging out for several more months, we'd gotten mostly comfortable with kissing and making out, and I had felt him up again a couple times, just idly playing with him really. That was just about the time he'd begun to pull away, and by the next semester I'd stopped altogether and our conversations just seemed more platonic. I was in deep, but he'd started to swim back to the surface. Up there his parents could keep an eye on him...and he could breathe.

Otters are better swimmers than us tigers.

Connor gave my cock a stroke all the way down to the base, and I sucked in air and pressed my hips needily into his hand. His eyes were on my face. I didn't look at him.

He placed the arm nearer to me on my stomach, the other one holding down my leg while grasping my balls and the base of my penis. I'd been in the same position he was many times in college and after, but I was hugging a toilet bowl miserably instead of lowering my mouth onto...oh...god...he's...

Agonizingly slow. I shivered. It took most of a minute before I was fully in his mouth. I closed my eyes and squirmed as I felt his tongue run up the side of me.

He was so careful. Most guys were aggressive during blowjobs. They had something to prove. Dan especially had almost FORCED orgasms upon me with his fast and furious ministrations. It always left me panting, spent, and satisfied. But what Connor was doing was...so much more. He was DRAWING the pleasure out of me, languidly, almost painfully.

He drew his mouth all the way back to my head, keeping his lips poised at the tip while one hand moved to knead at my scrotum and the other curled around my shaft, stroking me in that same deliberate, intoxicating way. I was starting to feel an orgasm slowly coming on, still in the distance, but with the way he was building me up, it was going to be a doozy.

It hadn't registered with me that I'd closed my eyes, but I opened them to look down at the still-fully-clothed otter and what he was doing to me. He was still kneeling by the couch, hunched over my body intently. What was happening felt wrong in the back of my mind somewhere, but everywhere else it felt so right. This is what I'd wished would happen with Connor so long ago, but he'd never felt comfortable with it. And now that he was doing it there was always the nagging sense that I was the one uncomfortable with it.

"Don't you want this...?"

I did. I do.

Behold, the flesh and the power it holds.

"Unnnhhhh...Connor..."

He gave the end of my cock a last lick and looked up at me, hands still cradling my genitals. "...Yeah?"

I was breathing heavily, both from being stimulated and being very, very afraid of what was happening. But I couldn't deny my selfishness. I knew what I was doing to myself and for some reason I had to drive the knife in deeper. If only I could know what Connor was doing to HIMself.

"Do you wanna...fuck me?"

He was still slowly massaging my private parts, making me tremble in need.

"Uhh...I don't think we should...go that far..."

His long whiskers twitched and his face looked pained. I sat up slightly, sighed, and put my hands on his shoulders, pulling him up onto the couch. I sat facing him, while he stared directly down at the floor, barely sitting on the very edge.

I felt completely at a loss but I managed, "Connor, why are you doing this?"

His eyes flicked over to my direction but he didn't really look at me. There was a hint of misery in his voice when he replied, "I...thought you'd like it. I just...don't know what to do to help you, I know I really hurt you a long time ago and I guess I felt sorry for you and..." He sighed with a shudder. "I'd been thinking about doing that ever since I saw you again."

"You don't have to feel sorry for me, I'm doing fine. Well...I'm surviving...And I really appreciate it I guess, but I don't think that's what either of us needs right now...."

That made him shake his head. "Actually, I think..." Here he turned towards me on the couch and drew closer, reaching out his hand and leaning over me once again, "I think it's exactly what we both need, unfortunately." He grabbed my still-swollen penis, eliciting a small whimper from me as I was reminded of the painful sensation of needing release. "...It's been awhile for me too...like this."

Now kneeling between my legs, he began really masturbating me, looking hard at my eyes as I squirmed, my arms failing to hold me up in a sitting position. Between groans I whispered, "Connor...why..."

He gave a squeeze to my already-aching balls. "I really want to do this for you. Please...cum for me."

"UNGGHHHH!!" I couldn't hold back a desperate moan when he accentuated his plead with an acceleration of the rhythm of his hand and a firmer grip on my scrotum. My ass lifted off the couch, thrusting my groin toward Connor, and my claws were out, the tips of them digging into the couch. It wouldn't be long before he would get his wish...but I could already feel the shame building up in my chest.

Connor was silent and intent as he jerked me off, his gaze never wavering from my face. It was probably the longest he'd ever really LOOKED at me, and I could only close my eyes and turn my head to the side. The fingers of one of his hands raked almost lovingly down my chest and stomach before returning to my sack, making me shiver and strain towards him even more.

It all finally started happening in a rush. "Ohhh..." I tensed up even further and buried the side of my face in the couch cushion. I opened my eyes just a sliver and saw my whiskey on the floor beside me, the ice mostly melted now. God I was going to need a lot of that stuff tonight.

It was happening. The otter's hand pressed up into the underside of my balls and I still couldn't look at him as I cried out "Goddddddd!!" and let go. Connor held my penis and watched it paint my white bellyfur a murkier shade of stain. My claws retracted and my arms went limp, lying to either side of me on the furniture.

For a few minutes I lay huffing, trying to keep it inside, while Connor still held my slackening cock and my semen turned runny on my front. It was futile, though, it always was; the pain brimmed over and I started to cry. I couldn't put a name to the feeling that hurt so much, but I just felt so pathetic lying there on my crappy couch in my crappy apartment having spent my seed at the hands of this damned otter that I'd once loved and had to lose and who came back into my life just to jerk me off all over myself. An otter who was MARRIED to a WOMAN because he couldn't make himself be with a man though he was obviously still fighting that appetite. And one day he was particularly hungry, and I happened to be the easiest piece of meat to get.

And not even that made me feel less alone in the world; not even someone just wanting to watch my dick spew on my pelt as a pale payback for a missed opportunity most of a decade ago, gave me any sort of hope that anyone in my life would ever just stick around.

"Oh no...Kevin...please don't..." I heard him when he realized what my shaking was from and saw the tears staining the orange beside my nose. He helped me sit up with my legs off the couch and put his arm around my shoulder as I slumped and just sobbed. My dick flopped over and lay against my leg lamely. I felt like I never wanted to see the thing again.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you...shit, I just thought you'd like it but I'm being such an asshole and a tease..." Breathed in and out. "I just wanted to help."

I couldn't answer. I didn't even have any answers. What the fuck were we both doing? This was an awful idea from the very beginning. Some wounds should just be left alone and forgotten about, and here we were bothering them all over again because we thought we should "get back in touch".

"Maybe I should just go..."

I grabbed him by the shoulder just as he released mine. We both had a lot of issues to work out before we'd really be good company for each other again, but being literally alone would have been the worst thing in the world at that moment.

I slowed down to a heavy sniffle. "I...understand. It's okay. I'll be fine. You meant well. It's just...bad timing, I guess." Swallowed. "I've just been a mess and...it's just with you I...never knew and now it's even more confusing..." I leaned down and picked up my glass from the floor. Took a healthy mouthful and gulped. "Does...Terry know?"

He bristled but answered honestly. "I told her I'd been with guys when we started dating. But...not about you or...us."

"Jesus, man...." Another swig. A mouth full of whiskey helps the loneliness go down... "I guess you...miss it?"

He snorted with a note of self-loathing. "I was never serious with another guy after you...a couple times in college I slipped and it was just...sex...but I couldn't keep doing it. I never felt...comfortable, even though I wanted it."

"Too bad for me, right?" That was more vindictive than I meant it, but Connor just sighed.

"I know it hurt you. I thought it would be better for you if I let go and you didn't have to wait on me anymore. I guess I waited too long, huh?"

Silence for a while. "I loved you. I still might. Nothing's worked out for me since then."

I felt an otter hand on my leg. "I hope something will soon. You deserve it."

I couldn't think of any reply so I just placed my hand on his.

Silence for a while before he added, "You deserve better than all I've done to you."

* * *

"Hello metal fans and welcome to the latest edition of Six Feet, our blog's series of interviews with shining stars of the underground metal community. Today we're on camera with vocalist Kevin Musser of Exploitation, backstage before their set opening for a killer tour featuring death metal heavyweights Immolation. Hi Kevin, how's everything going?"

"Going great, can't complain about touring with one of our most worshiped bands!"

"Well they certainly influenced Exploitation's early work a lot, but the new album, just out last month, titled 'At Fault', has an incredibly fresh sound that's making people in the community turn heads."

"Thanks, man, we do love making new sounds and new fans."

"I love the record, I'll just say that right now, I think it may end up being one of my favorites of the year. I'm especially loving the influences of the latter eras of both Death and Converge in the more emotional guitar work and personal, poetic lyrics; what can you say about the new sound of the band?"

"Well thanks a lot for the compliments on the album, we love hearing that. One really different thing about the way this album happened is that I contributed to the writing process musically, I mean, outside of my vocal patterns and lyrics. I'd never played guitar before but, well, about a year ago I had a really tough experience and hit a low point and I just thought at one point, fuck, I need to just take some control of SOMETHING because there's so much going wrong that's out of my control. I picked up an acoustic guitar, of all things, and starting picking up things from our guitarist Jeff, and just starting to learn bits of my other favorite music; you're right, late-Death songs definitely included, I've always loved those albums and since that shit last year they've been really important to getting me through. So I had a few riffs here and there on the album, that's probably the more yearning parts you're talking about, though we still wanted to be heavy of course. I still suck at guitar *laughs*, but someday I might play on a record or live or something."

"So would you say that the experiences you had since the last album have influenced the direction of this latest one, or-?"

"Oh definitely, definitely, creating this music has been a real driving force for me since then, it's been my way of channeling all of it into something constructive and meaningful, and it's worked wonders for me. Since our second guitarist Zan left the band after the last album, Jeff's appreciated having help putting the songs together plus having other riff contributions and what-have-you, so it's worked out great. It also kind of made me think, like, our first couple albums we just wanted to be fucking brutal like our heroes Cryptopsy and yeah Immolation, and lyrically too I mean I love what I wrote, but it was impersonal because I was just in the mindset of...I guess not really being art. I loved the band and our music and I'd been wanting to do death metal since high school but it wasn't a deep thing for me. But when writing 'At Fault', I was thinking, man what I've gone through is pretty fucking brutal, and it's MORE brutal because it's REAL, you know, this stuff hit me inside where it really hurt. So the music and the lyrical content now come from a place of experiencing pain, and not inflicting pain so much. Or maybe it's just my latent English major tendencies finally manifesting since I've started teaching some classes again *laughs*."

"I agree about the lyrics, and some people who were expecting the more standard definition of brutal from you guys have decried some of the lyrics from the album, calling them emo or whatnot, but I think true death metal could use more expression like this, here, I have a sample for the viewers written down...

_ _

_ With eyes like wide-open wounds you came to me, and I held you_

_ But wet, slippery creature that you are, you fell through my arms_

_ Into my mind, but not into my life_

_ _

_ I pushed too hard, and you didn't pull hard enough_

_ Our comfort zones never truly touched_

_ We kept each other company, but it was never meant to be_

_ _

I mean, I think that's pretty powerful stuff, and it sounds very personal to you."

"Yeah, very specifically personal, that song was. I was a little scared of it coming off as lame like you said, but again, that's what metal is about to me, expressing these forceful emotions with forceful music. And hey, I didn't start singing all this in a whiny voice all harmonized in thirds over some cut-rate pop-punk, did I? I'm still the same vocalist with the same growl. Barney Greenway and Chuck Schuldiner did some intensely personal lyrics and made them sound beautiful and none-more-metal. I think I'm just finally making my stamp and bringing what I have to offer to the metal table."

"And what an offer it is. Thank you Kevin, I'm really looking forward to your set and all your future music, good luck with it!"

"Thanks for having me! Stay sick, everyone."

"Exploitation, 'At Fault', out now, get it or get left behind everyone, and come see them on tour with the mighty Immolation RIGHT NOW! This is Andy of Six Feet, signing off."

Not long after the interview, a blue-flanneled, work-booted tall tiger took the stage and roared at the small crowd before the first song, "Alright everyone, while you're getting hyped for IMMOLATION..." pause for cheering... "We're Exploitation, which doesn't sound as metal but we don't give a shit!" I upped the metal horns and gave them all my back-in-practice tiger-grin anyway, this time with the end of my tongue out between my teeth for emphasis. There was some cheering for my display and a bit of laughter at my weak jokery. "We're starting off with 'Wounds', from the new record. This song is an exorcism for me...AND A MOSHPIT FOR YOU. GOOOO!"

Derek tore into the first blast beat of the song and my heart was racing along. It felt like there was a few years there where it hadn't been beating.

I wasn't at rest, but I was comfortable. I'd spent years waiting for that zone; finally I'd started making my own.

__________________________________

Hey everyone gracious enough to read (now that the site is finally out of the darkness!!):

I appreciated the outpouring of interest in the first installment of this story more than I can say, and it really gave me the confidence to write this follow-up. I hope it wasn't too much of a left turn for everybody!

I used lines from "Sweet Amber" by Metallica, "Force Fed" by Strapping Young Lad, and "Flesh and the Power It Holds" by Death. I obviously don't own them, the copyright for the lyrics belongs with the artists. All good songs by great bands, each with a larger significance to the story at hand than I hinted at here (particularly obvious in the verse of the SYL tune...). Plus the title was ripped off from a galvanizing tune by Nails that was also relevant at the time of writing, and to this story ("I'm the wreckage you left...I'm the wreckage that crushed you"). If you're interested in what partially inspired this story, they're all worth a listen.

Thanks for sticking with me!