Crossing Realms
Trying something new. . .
I figured it would be a usual night as I finished up my closing duties at the Shop N' Stop delicatessen. With my shift being 4-11, I was ready to go out and hit the Irish Pub for a beer or two. I was not expecting anything more than a little fuzz and buzz, something to go home to and celebrate another most excellent evening at work.
Yeah, I'm a human. Who gives a fuck? In a world mixed with, like, 70% furries and 30% humans, life is fucking great, now, man. Not that I have ever dated anyone "out of my species". Not yet, anyways.
And that is where this "tail" turns.
The manager on duty that night, Mr. Steve Blasko, told me that I would be able to leave at an earlier time because it was so slow that evening. I thought, _Great! _ I could not wait to get out and sip some beer. I do not like the hard stuff, like vodka, tequila, et cetera, et cetera. No, I am just interested in beer. Four Loko? Once in a while. That stuff _is fun! _
So, anyways, I clock out and I put away my cutter and nametag, because I work in the deli, and it's a lot of fun. I treat the customers and co-workers like genuine family, because I love what I do, and it makes for a great life. And, I won't lie, I do have a drug problem, but I like to drink and smoke cigarettes, although smoking is not so much fun as it used to be. I don't know, it's just hard on the throat.
Anyways, so I'm walking with my MP3, listening to I don't remember and I stop in the Irish Pub, which is really nice. By the way, I live in Eastfield, which is a "quaint" little town and I just love it here. My family is here, and they are so supportive. I have the doorman check my ID, and it clears. I'm 35, but I look so goddamn young. The place is packed, but it is Saturday, so no shit, Sherlock. At first, I was going to look for a small table, because if there is one thing I dislike is being around a crowd, but I decided what the fuck I will take a chance and I moved over to the bar and found a chair. There were all kinds around: sure, humans, stuck up motherfuckers who thought they were better than all the furries (when were they ever going to learn?), but wolves, foxes, squirrels, I mean, it's like a zoo in there, you know?
I have to stop for a moment, and digress. That's cool, because this is a pretty goddamn long story, and there is no way I can tell all this in one sitting. I mean, I can give a few more paragraphs and I will have to stop and fall asleep because what a night it has been! But, I love furries. I mean, I love them. I lust after them. I cry myself to sleep at night, wondering why I was born a goddamn human in the first place. Furries, well, they're so. . .it's hard to find the perfect word, but. . .well, that's it. . .they're perfect. Shit, they're more than perfect. They're "fur"-fect.
They are more than just intelligent and possess opposable thumbs. They have a heightened sense of a spiritual nature that I cannot even begin to consume on a full level, and it's just beautiful. In my deepest meditations alone, I have wished for just a fraction of some of their love, and have failed every time. I feel disappointed. I am no half-baked idiot. I am not your run-of-the-mill human. I have been through some shit. I have made some fucked up bad choices, and I have gained more wisdom from the aftermath of those bad choices than from all the "successes" of my life.
There was this one time I met this amazing and beautiful tan vixen named Cindy. She was eighteen and single and had a super body and a great sense of humor and love just radiated from her like it was a rainbow detonating from her eyes and mouth, and as we danced to a club song, I felt entranced. I felt enamored. I wanted nothing more than to be super glued to her side forever.
I asked her out on a date. When her paw touched my hand, I blushed, felt crippled and ran. I mean, I ran for the exit door to the club, and cried all the way home, my sneakers scraping rubber from the soles off the sidewalk. How embarrassing, I thought.
It was then that I realized: It's me. I was not strong enough for the furries. As a human, my own level of love and passion was real inferior to the divine level of which Cindy had contributed to our dance earlier.
I had to change. But how?
Well, tonight, that change began. And, I am sure that you are just dying to know what the fuck happened. And, yes, I am dying to tell you, because I have found a furry that I really, really am ready to commit to, and even thought I just met him (yes, I'm bi, but I'm down to earth), I know my heart and soul now, I'm ready.
Let's just say he's hung, wonderful, caring, charming, has a great sense of humor, and has that "fur"-fect touch.
Whew! Please pardon me, but that bed in front of me looks awful good, and I am about to collapse. I don't know if it's from the Pabst Blue Ribbon or from what happened tonight, but after work tomorrow, I promise to tell more!
Peace,
Andy Pandy