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Leading Man

It comes to this; a rally of the heart in a hallway of echoes. Each long, each a sensuous whisper of a former lover.

A serenade of Wolfgang Mozart's sings through the court as if an angel inspired; each beat of "The Magic Flute" a flight into fantasy.

Fantasy...fantasy...fantasy...

I find myself among a gaggle of patrons at a classical celebration, a masquerade ball. Everywhere about the gold gilded ceiling are posted streamers of many different colors wavering with the breeze from the opened panorama windows of the second floor of a great receiving foyer. At the foot, a great red carpeted stairway split into two different paths at the top like the fork of a dragons' tongue.

Guests wear masks of silk and thin ceramic glazed to a fine finish like the craftsmanship of faerie folk. They ply much discourse amongst each other, as butlers carry trays laden with hors'douvre's and glasses less than one fourth of high spirit wine.

Far off, by a great piano with the lid open to heighten the sound, is the orchestra decked in fine vestments of tuxedos, playing with practiced paws, eyes closed in concentration.

I find myself bumped into accidentally by a great gent of a creature; a gray shire stallion in a midnight blue suit, a tiny (in reference to his size) glass of alcohol in one hoof, his mane braided curtly in the manner of an old equine military officer.

"Forgive me, Sir, it seems my tolerance for this port is waning. I find myself ever the slightest inebriated." He bellows, a great gust of breath from wide nares.

"Quite alright. Charming you should blame a faux pas on the wine, when the host, as I am given to understand, has watered it down somewhat to keep it from being too potent."

"Potent, no, Sir, save you have yourself a little more than previously recommended."

His acquaintance nearby, a palomino, gives a laugh.

"Jolly! My friend here has probably consumed eight or so such drinks. Certainly you warn him of such things, but he tells me not to be concerned, for due to his body mass, it would take more alcohol before he feels the effect."

"A little clumsy, then, Sir warhorse?"

The shire blinked.

"What gave my previous life's conduct away?"

"The style of your mane. Some habits seem not to dissipate with age."

The two stallions laugh, refusing an offer for some cocktail franks by a passing servant, as the band takes a break and goes to the restroom or cleans instruments.

Then the shire looks upon me curiously.

"I wonder...do not take offense in this intrusion, but, why have YOU come to this party? Daresay, most guests are equinefolk and a few other species, but you are the only human I've seen all night."

The shire has a mask of fine black gloss motifs of swirls and sharp line barbs against a background of painted gold.

The palomino sports skeletons of autumn trees and fallen leaves upon his, with a backdrop of grayish-black.

"It does make one akin to being an endangered species, does it not?"

"A rarity." The palomino mused.

"The strange creature in the menagerie." The shire agreed.

I peer about to see that no one is following the conversation.

"Well, I was invited by the daughter to the stallion hosting this event."

As I looked about at all the mares in antique dresses, their tails sprouted behind in impromptu tassels fastened with long streaming bows of many colors, I thought of the sensuous caress of that aristocratic blonde-maned (and tufted tailed), gray-coated shire mare who had accosted me in the park many a lifetime ago, when her machine; a sopwith camel biplane crashed among the trees, as fighters buzzed above London like flies; shooting at or defending the great dreary gray cigar-shaped siege balloons with black crosses painted on the side; skeletons of framework bulging out from the hydrogen bladders.

Daddy's "little" girl was an RAF fighter ace.

"Risqué,' the palomino sighs, 'so clearly inappropriate. Does the lordship know his daughter is courting a man?"

"Tonight he will, for Lysanna will request my permission for a dance together when the ball commences."

"He'll have a bloody heart attack!" The palomino protests.

"No he won't, equinefolk have strong hearts." The shire countered.

"I meant, of course, metaphorically it will frustrate him to no end."

"Where is our much deposed lord?"

Suddenly, the great horse stares at my breast; whispers to his friend. It wasn't the most obvious decoration, and I don't go over the top like old men are wan to do, but-

"Is that a Victoria Cross?"

"Yes, so?" I reply boredly.

"How'd you get something like that?"

I look around at the conversations, trying to find Lysanna.

"It might take awhile to tell."

"Please do. We're here for some time waiting at any rate; tell us about the medal."

"Okay, it begins several years ago toward the onset of the great war."

"You were in the great war?!" The palomino stammers.

"Hock deep since the shit began."

It begins like this;

My name is Jonas Christensen. I was born in America sometime in the eighties. I was good at computer stuff; I thrived in all the many tasks. I had a job, a good life, but when I took a vacation in the U.K, something strange happened; something I've no right to understand.

The countryside of Britain is fine for a calming vacation. It has everything a guy needs when he's got the carpal tunnel bad, or if his eyes are bloodshot, or if he's just sick of reading lines of random characters on a monitor.

When I came here, when I hiked the fields and little stream beds, there, sticking up out of the dirt arose a rusty spire of metal like a perverted tree. It was about a foot high and looked sharp to the touch, not to mention a breeding ground for Tetanus.

Nearby it was a small piece of tattered fabric. It looked like canvas, but I wasn't positive since it was more decayed than a linen burial shroud.

I did not know what I was looking at, as I picked up this piece of decrepit cloth, as the metal shrieked when the wind sliced right through the spider webbed framework of trash.

Then something happened for which I am dumbfounded; something strange and wonderful and terrifying.

Sounds of buzzing like mosquitoes on steroids echoed through the air, tattering barks of staccato blasts erupted in neat bursts of sound from machinegun mounts, as old planes dodge about each other, firing into wings and engine cowlings. A soft tingling of brass shell casings can sometimes be heard jingling from the Spandou or Vickers' machineguns onto tree branches and boulders below.

The sky grew orange from a bright blue as a great airship of gray and dun stained canvas caught aflame and burst like a fiery balloon, each segment bursting with snorts of angry flame and black smoke in rapid-almost timely fashion.

And I take this all in, as I hear buzzing get louder; as a machine glides toward me belching black smoke, fixed wings torn off as it crunched through the old elm trees, as the prow smashes neatly into a tree trunk, and the pilot is shoved hard against the dashboard as he struggles with a seatbelt.

I am staring at a crashed biplane, the wings shredded off, the engine on fire, the massive muscular pilot jumping out, his goggles, helmet, and scarf still on, as he grips a revolver in a gloved hand.

My breathing intensifies. I look at the piece of old cloth in my hand to realize it as a piece (brand new piece) fallen from his plane.

"Wot the bloody ell are YOU doing out here, Govnor?" Spoke the muffled voice of the pilot, his nose a little bigger than normal as bundled in the beige scarf.

"I-I-...Where..."

"Do you have a radio? Do you have a car? I need to get back to RAF headquarters."

"What...wait..."

"Not the most sophisticated debater, are you?"

"Can you help me get home?" Now my accent bled through, the Virginian.

"Yank! Wot are you doing here? America hasn't entered the war yet!"

War? I was a long way from home. Last thing I remember, we didn't bomb Iraq with planes like this!

Follow the yellow brick road.

The pilot shakes me hard.

"Get a hold of yourself, yank. This is not the time to play twenty questions!"

To underscore that, a Fokker triplane shredded the trees nearby with a rake of gunfire, a few bullets making sparks on the housing of the engine for the RAF man's downed fighter.

He grabbed me by my collar and forced me at a run by his side. Holy shit he was fast! I couldn't keep up at all! He dragged me half the time. He even managed to run well despite the parachute affixed to his ass like a brown canvas whoopee cushion. Absurd, except I was running for my life and from keeping the Fokker pilots from shooting my own ass off!

We made it at last to the protection of a farmers' half decrepit barn, milch cows baying from our intrusion.

Some of the bales are mildewy, as splinters and dust fall on us from above from another enemy strafing run upon the barns' roof. The holes from the bullets create spears of light in this almost dismal place.

The pilot is facing away from me, as he tears off his helmet and headgear and unwinds his scarf from about his throat, the parachute dropping off his muscular clothed ass to reveal a strange gathering of short golden hair. It looks like a tail, but that cannot be accurate. It must be some other piece of British equipment.

She turns toward me, stopping my heart instantly in horror; my arms and wrists get all funny like a thousand invisible demons tickled my skin.

World war one, maybe I could deal with, dying I could deal with, stranded I could deal with.

I cannot deal with the disposition of my rescuer.

Not only wasn't she a man, she wasn't even human!

She holds out a gloved hand, smiling nicely toward me.

"Welcome to merry old England." Offers the horse who looks like a bodybuilding woman, kind yet intense eyes.

I think I faint and fall in a pile of dusty straw.

"Ain't that a 'ell of a way to start a conversation, Basil? Our Yankee friend passed out on me just as we got away from Jerry."

I awaken deliriously to the stinging sensation of alcohol swabs applied to minor cuts and bruises on my face.

"Wot a yank is doing out here is wot I'd like to know." Declared a male voice.

"He can't be a spy for the krauts, can he?" Replied the pilot.

This was a dream! It's all a dream! None of this can be real! Time travel is one thing, but even that can't account for semi-human beings with animalistic traits!

"It's all...all a...a dream!"

"Sounds delirious. Maybe he got the flu from running around in the woods all this time."

I rose slowly from the enveloping comfort of linen sheets, pointing at the horse in the RAF pilot jacket, at the fox in the officer uniform.

"You can't be real! None of this is real! War is not waged with biplanes; it's done with coast-to-coast missile platforms or with stealth planes, or with nukes!"

"He sounds insane!" The horse declared, pointing back at me in speculation.

The fox crossed his arms, a few medals now resting on his wrist, digging into the fur with jagged edges.

"Maybe, or maybe he knows a few secrets we don't."

"A spy?" She offered.

"Likely. But for who? Isn't it too convenient an American comes out of the forest-perhaps maybe a liaison, maybe a tourist."

"A yank tourist in the middle of wartime England, isn't that a bunch of horse feathers."

"At this point, I question his lucidity and any point he has to make, so interrogation will need to wait."

"Basil...I kinda like the little guy. You think I could host him here at my squadrons' quarters for now?"

"Well, I did say that we had more important things we needed to do. You need a replacement plane."

"No I don't...we fixed up Bruno's; It's good to go." She said, her voice cold; distant.

"Damn it...poor bastard. I liked him, Lysanna, you know I did."

"I know Basil, things'll just be lonelier here, that's all. A rookie will just fill in his spot neatly soon enough."

"No one can fill the cockpit he left, and It's unreasonable to expect anyone to try. It would just be a lie to all of us."

The horse took that in dispassionately, but then her face creased and her eyes watered as she rushed into the outspread arms of her commander, who was a little too short, so his face came up to her heaving breasts. This sight would be more comical if it weren't for the undertone of loss and eulogy.

"I want Bruny bear back!" She squealed out, crunching the lithe fox in her grasp.

"I-UH!-I know, Lysanna, I know...Please don't crush me."

"UH! Um-sorry!" She immediately apologized, letting go, as the unappealing sight of her clear mucous dripped from her nostrils, and her cheekbones were streaked with shiny trickles of tear rivers against the gray blackness of her furry face.

This emotion captivated me into forgetting the previous fears I had in mind.

"How many did you lose?..."

A long pause, they turn to stare back at me.

"Too many to count, now. We been losin' 'em faster 'an 'eaven can take 'em."

That was unimaginable. You watched about these casualties on documentaries, but here in the fray it was different-even if it was animals-even if it was the past-what happened presently in my context for this era still tore through me like a kraut saw-knife.

"I can't imagine what that feels like. None of my family is involved with the war (my war; Iraq) or in danger of getting killed."

"Think about...about someone who always has your back-better than a brother or sister; a comrade who shares your soul and all your worst fears and dreams and frustrations. You been through the sticky wickets of war together for years-but one day, you come back-and they don't. It's like someone tied your soul to a brick and threw it off the Empire State building; that's how deep the pain goes, and you might let the pain take you too, but one thing always galvanizes you to live; hatred and revenge for what the enemy has done to you." She mused, the cloud of violence passing her eyes like a ghost.

"Shit..."

"Yea, powerful stuff, love." She replied nodding.

The fox politely coughed, rubbing the face of a silver pocket watch on his sleeve, proceeding to head for the door.

"Lysanna, I have a council to attend. Why don't you show our friend around. Even if he's a spy, Jerry has seen it before (the airfield)."

"Right O, then. I'll see you with the mates for some tea?"

"Absolutely. Farewell."

Then he left, closing the old flecked painted door behind him of an old disrepaired bunk house.

About, there were many empty bunk beds with pictures and personal effects posted on the walls or left on overturned crates where once contained canned fruit. We were alone in here.

"Quite the sticky mess we have here, love. I wish you would tell me where you came from."

I laughed, a personal joke.

"Ma'am, you wouldn't know the truth if I told you."

She had one arm held against her chest, right under her hefty tits, her other hand stroking her furred cheekbone.

"Try me. We've got all day until Jerry comes back tonight."

I sigh, this would only make me sound crazy, and that was better than being hanged for espionage activities.

"I am Jonas, a computer specialist and white hat hacker. I come from a time several decades in the future, where all of this is history."

"I dunno wot a hacker is, but if you're from the future, where's your fancy laser gun?"

"Where's your club and flint arrows." I countered.

"Touché. If you know this history, who will win?"

"The allies, when America gets its shit together."

"Really?! This is splendid news! When do they join us?!"

"When a U-boat sinks the Lusitania, killing almost all passengers onboard."

She frowned, speculating something and finally gave it up.

"Jonas, love."

"What?"

"Wot's a U-boat?"

This never occurred to me! I was in world war one, but I never assumed it would be different from my histories' great war!

"Hey, Lysanna?"

"Wot, love?"

"Fuck."

It was an hour after I got over that frustration and tried to reason out my next move. I wasn't completely up shit creek. Maybe the krauts won this war, maybe not, but if I could apply what I knew about war, maybe I could help these people-

-These...animals.

No, no. I don't owe them shit...

Wait, I owe Lysanna; she saved me from a Fokker fuck-up.

She had been staring at me the whole time, silent and patient with the eyes of a huntress gauging a potential target.

"Wot's wrong, there, yank?" She finally whispered, but it was not spoken in cruelty.

"I expected things to be the same. How can I help when history is not the same?"

"Mothers win the war by donating unused kitchen utensils to turn into guns. Fathers and sons by fighting. Daughters by fighting and joining the V.A.D. (voluntary aid detachment)."

"I know little. I know of futuristic weapons, but not how to build them. I know no more about building these things than you do about manufacturing your own plane out of a home garage."

"Maybe you can volunteer for the air raid personnel."

A loud buzzing overcame my ears as a biplanes' engine turned over and started, slicing wind and taxiing on the runway beyond the walls of the bunkhouse.

"I could fly."

"Umm...sorry to burst that thought, but humans aren't allowed to take up any critical combat positions. That's part of the reason why you aren't taken seriously for a spy; the krauts usually don't send men to do the dirty work."

"Discrimination?" I said, my ears hot with anger and denial.

"Practicality. If I caught you spying on us, could you defend yourself hand-to-hand against someone strong as me?"

"I'd try."

"And I would break your arms in the process were it needed."

I slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor defeated.

"What the hell good am I?"

"A soldier's spirit in the wrong body-pity. If you wanted to know, the easiest thing to do is become a battlefield medic. That's the closest you'll get to fighting and feeling important."

I went to the door, opening it, looking at the fourteen or so planes being serviced by mechanics further out on the runway. Now that I knew I was denied from getting into one of those dual-winged craft, a great depression washed over me. Not as great as the depression in a couple years after this war, but still...

It was one of the most horrible things to be denied the chance to do something interesting with one's life merely because of race or species, and I could hardly deny being human.

Looking at my crestfallen expression, she smiled, laughing.

"Buck up there, love. If it means that much, I'll take you up when I have the time. Besides, I like you here; you can be the squadron mascot."

I cringed at that last word, but I knew it must be true. Men have animals as pets and mascots, and this must be how men are treated when the role was reversed. The discrimination made sense, put in that context. Not being taken seriously as a security risk, now it was clear to me.

I was Lysanna's little joke; her amusement to distract her from the front lines.

A horses' pet.

"It hurts alot, to know the truth." I sigh out.

"Truth?" She repeated.

"That I'm just a trophy of war."

Her eyes were wide, aghast, horrified.

"No, no, no! Not like that at all, love! You're no prisoner!"

"Prisoner?! Forget that shit! Now, I have to think of myself as less than a citizen because horses and foxes and god knows what else dominate the world."

"You've got it all backwards. We are here to make sure that men don't have to fight and get killed."

"But I WANT to! That's fine for the rest of those cowards, but I wanna fight for the good of everything!"

"And die?" She offered speculatively.

"No soldier ever intends to die, it just happens sometimes."

"That's not the only thing that happens 'sometimes.'" She said, giving a winking smile, as she bumps the door closed with a tap of her plump arse.

I knew what she was trying to do; she was trying to distract me from thinking about war.

"There's another reason why I want you around. A couple of my squadmates' need a convenient...hmmm...place to settle into? The males go conveniently into town, but my female pilots are too restricted by regulations to ask their male mates in the RAF, and they ain't bloody well interested in displaying themselves as whores when going into town on leave.' Her eyes took on an odd look, as her arms slowly dropped lower along my chest...reaching...reaching...,'I saw the potential of having you here when your cute form first fainted on me-"

"I didn't faint! It was heatstroke!" I said, protesting nervously, trying to squirm away uncomfortably against the mustard green of the old flaking wall.

"Woteva, love,' She said, licking her lips, 'point I am reckoning, is that there is something even YOU can do to be a part of the war effort!"

As her massive four fingered hand, with the hoof tips on her fingers sparkling with glossy black polish, proceeded down my stomach, toward the split in my pants of the crotch, I suddenly became very nervous. This was worse than being a virgin! Fuck a-

"You're making me an RAF gigolo?" I whisper out, my eyes wide in fright, not that she cared to pay attention, as her hand dwarfed my pelvis, resting softly, completely covering the whole area.

God, this was crazy!

I'm crazy!

Point taken.

"No, Lysanna! I don't want you to do this!"

"Then why is my hand getting pushed slowly off and becoming wet with male pre?"

My mouth was wide, as I sucked in frantic breaths. A nightmare! My mind hated it, but my body wasn't listening.

My heart beat like a marathon sprint; stuck in my throat pulsing a thousand times a second like a quasar.

She wanted it bad, I could see it in her face. She had more than an amusement for this latest "P.O.W." She very clearly looked like I was the answer to her problems.

"It is ironic, yank, that I've shot down many males, but this is the first time that I'VE been shot down!" She chuckled out with her powerful heaving chest, great shoulders rising with nervous passion from her heat.

But then she takes her other hand to my face, softly stroking my cheek, gazing intently into my eyes.

"But I won't go down without a fight, I'm taking you with me!" She declared with a rapid mirthful chuckle.

"This is improper!" I said, remembering that in this era, dating was nonexistent. Young men-er whatever-went calling to the house of their love, where they were plied with conversation by her parents.

She slowly removed the hand from my crotch, using it to stroke her great chin in speculation, her great breasts in the RAF multi-buttoned coat trembling slowly with a shiver.

"Normally, little man, I'm inclined to agree, but these are special circumstances. A gal's gotta take what she can when deaths' around the corner. Social protocol doesn't matter; Basil knows this, and now, so do you. I promise that while we are fully aggressive in the air, me and the lady mates aren't eager to put rape on the agenda."

I gulp, terrorized. Lysanna was enormous-she could rip me apart by looks alone.

"Oh......How many are we talking about?" My back became cold, worms crawling down in unpleasant sticky waves.

"Including me, six, plus our Flight leaders' a femme, so if you don't listen to me, she can order you to comply."

"Bullshit, I never volunteered for any of this. You can't order me to do anything!"

The great gray shire laughs, rudely unzipping the fly of my pants with a hasty nonchalant snap of her muscular hand, an erection springing to attention with a horny salute!

"My little friend, you just got 'drafted'." She whispered to my dick, leaning in for a pert kiss, making it tingle through me like fiery ice.

She goes back to her coat with her hands, undoing the four brass buttons ever so slowly, removing it with a muted thump to the floor. She undoes a tie, whipping it off over her head and suddenly like a snake striking-has it about my own throat with a zipping snap of noise.

"Which means you are on a very short leash, indeed." She finished.

I struggle against her, knowing it will do no good as I wrack my head for something that will turn her off. Ironic, I suppose, when men will normally say anything to get into a woman's' pants, but what does a guy say to stay out of them?

Not something overly cruel, just enough to piss her off for a while.

"How old are you?" That'll do the trick! No woman ever likes being asked that.

She tilted her head askew, not sure what to make of that, her dark eyes gleaming with ancestral patience. Whatever her expression said to me, it was not of insult.

"Why do you ask, love?"

So much for that! Huh...say she has a fat ass-

No! This topic is so volatile! Most men get slapped-I might get an arm dislocated!

Even if it WAS true, I muse, not oblivious to the sensual plump curves of her buttocks.

"You know,' I said, trying to distract her, trying anything to get myself out of this, 'a fighter pilot is a confused soul who talks about flying when he's womanizing, and about womanizing when he's flying."

"Am I talking about flying?"

"um-uh-no."

"Then shut up and kiss me stud," She declares, reeling me in by her tie, slowly inching myself to her face, the bristles on her pert satin muzzle becoming more defined with the closing distance.

"Oh, shit." The words are uttered in a rapid bark, not unlike the rate of fire for a Maxim gun.

Her heavy horsie breath is hot in my face, the skin tingling positively to the sensation, her free hand burning softly on my shoulder with passion, reassuring.

A strong grip; likely her joystick hand-her gunner hand.

Her killers' hand.

That pink tongue slithers from the mouth, sharing a glint of those equine whites',

Before it forces it's way into my own, as I gag in protest and try to push her away.

This is insane! I didn't want it like this!

Her arms are strong-her tie strangles me as I resist her. She's too strong; It's goddamned unfair!

And as my heart stops in horror, the realization hits me. Is this what a woman goes through when she's raped?!

A man can refuse, he can deny wanting, but no matter what he thinks or feels or wants, his body knows what sex is and it reacts without permission. I can look at her, know she is an attractive piece of ass, and no matter that I resist the idea of bedding such a fine specimen, when push comes to shove, a guy's dick usually wins the show, and of course,

"God gave man a brain and a penis, but only enough blood to run one at a time."

-Robin Williams.

I guess when a guy is horny enough, he'd fuck a cactus knothole and not feel anything.

She uses the hand from my shoulder to tear open her white blouse shirt, a button smacking me softly on the underside of my chin as those breasts bounce out playfully like an obscene pair of fleshly gray balloons, the perky nipples like the filling nozzle jutting out.

But I bet those things aren't filled with air!

I mouth the words, 'oh, god,' muzzled by her-er hem-muzzle, as she forcefully takes one of my arms dangling uselessly at my sides, and shoves the hand up against the bursting softness of one gray-black furred melon.

Shallow puffs of breath exit from my nose like the panting of a dog, as I collapsed in her embrace.

Happy place. Happy place. Think of a happy place.

Yeah, in my disheveled pants, I muse wryly, as she shoves me into her with a grunt, making me squeal with surprise like an unreceptive filly, my dick almost painfully bent against her muscular belly.

Damn it! The horse felt so hot! It was like I got shoved right into the furnace of a desert.

Lifting me easily by the collar of my shirt, she promptly tossed me carelessly through a dozen feet of space to land discourteously in a bunk with a soft thump, proceeding to unfasten the belt and buttons of her pilot breeches, as I looked on in horror from a laying position.

"I don't know why you fuss so much. Normally, I'd be beating them OFF with a Cricket bat! The first time I WANT to be play, and the only valid mate for miles is a shy gent with sexual issues!"

"Who the hell do you think you are, horse?!" I spat.

"Why, I'm British, of course!" She replied, as if it meant something, fondling the softness of her own breasts as she sidled slowly up to the bunk I lay upon, her pants slowly falling from her hips, down her knees, pooling to her ankles in a sea of fabric as she easily stepped out of them, half naked in the near transparent ivory silk of some odd-looking undergarments. Not panties or boyshorts, something more conservative than that; they looked like tight-fitting boxers.

"Do you like them? I had these shipped from France."

Well, the French certainly aren't known for subtlety, as I see the wetness of her black-skinned cameltoe.

"Definitely to the point." I reply.

She giggles in response, sitting on the bunk next me, the springs creaking under a half ton of horse, her tufted tail wagging absurdly like a puppy dog's, one finger coyly in her mouth.

"You don't want to?" She giggles in that strange air-headed secretary way that drives most men crazy. Strange that's the voice a guy wants to hear in a porno.

She motions her head down, barely perceptible, giving the impression that her ass is mine to play with.

Funny, too, that alot of my friends go for the badonkadonk. The fact she was a horse probably wouldn't bother them, as long as it was ass on a female.

With utmost crudeness, she hops toward me, my hand now against the warmness of her silk-covered butt.

Badonkadraft.

"It won't bite; I promise!"

I cannot do anything but just stare, tight-lipped and unresponsive.

"You can either engage in a little fun with me, or I could bugger the lights outta you like you're afraid of."

How could dreams become so horribly distorted? She was the most perfect thing I'd ever seen, but...

-SNAP!-

The door is shoved loudly open, smacking against the wall, as something stumbles clumsily in, the pilot swaggering with a proud inebriated gait, a bottle of spirits in one paw, a bronzed-golden tail swaying high behind it.

-her.

"Wot's all this, then?" Comes the slurred purring of a clearly far from sober lioness.

"Can you tell her to stop seducing me?!" Despite being drunk, I'd hoped she still had the capacity to understand what was going on.

"An' why spoil all the fun, then? Got somewhere to be, pretty boy?"

What the hell did she say?

"Greta!" The mare declares happily, greeting the drunken kitty.

"Hey's there, Lysanna. See you got a new friend. Wot's taking you so long? I thought you were bloody horny!"

"So's everybody else. Our boy ain't putting out, an' I don't wanna force him."

She swats a paw in dismissal, "Force him? Bah! When's the last time you eva heard of a male being raped?"

Lysanna rubs her chin, thinking that out as the lioness comes toward us, taking a long pull from her bottle, corking it, and tossing it onto the dirty clothes of an opened trunk.

"Wot's your name?" She kindly whispers, rubbing my cheek and breathing the reeking smell of alcohol vapors into my face, situating herself on the other side of the bunk, and trapping me between the two of them.

When I don't respond, she rakes a claw down my shoulder, bloodying it with a shallow cut.

"Greta! Wot the 'ell are you doing?!" The mare declares, about ready to intervene.

"Shut up, Lysanna. A firm touch is all he be needin'." The lioness muses, tapping me seductively in the face with her tail.

"Good god! By the time you're done with him, there might not be anything left!" Lysanna protests.

"Cry me a bloody river. It ain't my fault a man isn't doing what men are supposed to do. Besides, don't men dream of that seductive cat woman?"

"Yeah, all men dream of drunk felinosapiens to scratch the 'ell outta 'em." Lysanna cynically declared.

"You betcha, because there are alot of horny guys out there for the pain."

Lysanna grabs me possessively to her breasts in those strong equine arms, snorting in the direction of Greta.

"You're a bitch when you go drinkin'. Why don't you come back to the bedside of the RAF's most prominent Casanova when you sober up. It's no good if you bloody up the merchandise..."

She nuzzles her soft nose against me, as she whickers in delight.

"Right, lover?" She coos, kissing me about the face slowly, a tender motion of patient affections.

Greta growls with her bloodshot eyes, swats a dismissive paw, and leaves us angrily to privacy with a horrendous slam of the door.

"Don't worry. Cap is nicer when she's not nursing the bottle..."

Then a mischievous gleam strikes Lysanna's glorious eyes with an excited draw of breath, which brings me to the curiosity of this odd situation.

"Perhaps we don't have to rush to the main show right away. After all, these lovely appetizers might do you all night!" She teased, ramming my head between her breasts, choking me in the warm folds of her velvety flesh.

Earlier, I might have struggled and refused, but Greta has given me a respect for the cold reality of my situation.

And really, it wasn't that bad, I just had to pretend she wasn't a cuddly mare with huntress' eyes.

There was something fiery about her. We burned together; afire. Aflame. Alive.

"You're the flame that burns me." I mumble, making her giggle out in that soft graceful way, eyelashes flickering, golden-blonde hair dangling softly against my back.

But the notion seized me fiercely just like this lover, and thus I knew such a thing was correct. We were made for each other because we were so obviously different. She wanted a male of her species just as I wanted a woman, but because of the constraints of war, we made do-or love-and more and more, I thought I could handle it.

"There, there,' she gently croons gently, 'Just think about wot a male of MY species would do."

A male of her species would ream her on his stick viciously like a kabob!

"Im not like that." I reply, holding her shoulders in my arms, staring out thoughtfully, remembering stallions viciously thrusting in horny vicious abandon.

"I'm not rough-or mean." I amended.

Her gay laughter shook her breasts most deliciously, making me wonder why I did not crave her as much before.

"Why, you never tried? I don't blame you. The females of your species are typically already frightened and confused by such congress without men being absolute sadists as well."

"Then you know why." I muse, licking the side and inner portion of her left breast, making her squeal softly, my hard cock rubbing against the softness of her belly, as I slowly hump against her, leaving trails of pre glistening in her fur.

"Why I cannot take you that way. Because if I am to treat you like a female of my persuasion, it should be without violence."

"Treat me like-...I am flattered!" She whinnied out, falling backwards upon the bunk, taking me with her.

We were on our sides, facing each other, looking into each other's eyes.

"Your eyes are soft and kind. You truly aren't from this war. You haven't seen the horrors of the balloon bombing or the lines of gassed soldiers coming home by train and ship."

"I've seen more horrors than you can imagine, but they aren't personal. They are aloof; distant-

I pause, smiling.

"They aren't real. Not compared to something as beautiful or fanciful like you. I swear if you had a horn, you'd be the elusive unicorn all I dared dream of."

"You dream of unicorns?" She teased, licking my cheek with a tentative flip of her soft tongue.

"I dream of great things, and these things are all before me, tempt me, tantalize me."

"Obviously,' Said her, nipples between the fingers of both hands, rubbed softly in rapt fondness, 'Now, wot would you like to do with this trophy?"

"Firstly, I profess an apology."

"An apology for wot?"

"For taking of you what I like as I were a shopper at the grocer." Say I, reaching about and taking the volumous handful of her tail in my fist.

It felt quite thick, like a feather dandy brush of a maids', the skin and bone of her short stub of a tail no thicker than twice the diameter of my thumb-and something else-she had a lovely red bow affixed to the base!

Going lower was awkward due to her strange French undergarment, but I contented myself with placing my hand on her gray furred and silk covered buttock nonetheless, grasping the flesh in my hand and turned on by the idea I had myself a handful of this horses' arse!

"Beauteous! Which silk is the truth and which is the false? I cannot distinguish the flesh from the garment; they are the same."

"Flatterer!" She accused with an amused nicker.

"Flattery is a lie, and since I cannot tell the difference between either silk, I speak the truth. You are whole and gorgeously nude to I. You are worth painting, illustration, poetry. Versatile o thy love!"

Her entire being made me humble at her side. I was unworthy; expendable. That she had chosen me by constraint of war made me fortunate indeed. I had refused her at first, rejecting such notions, but soon when I removed these stupid ideas from my head, then I could see what lover I had before me uncontested.

Her breasts glistened softly by lantern light, almost glowing warmly. She had her knees drawn up coyly to hide the sight of her crotch. In this position, the mare was quite adorable and pervaded an elegant lust within me like it were the tasteful wistful lovely sight of Victorian sophistication. Not quite erotica but more artful and in good taste. To have such qualities made me desire her as a lady even more.

The sight of her made me cry, as she glistened, deserving of wings like the fine fantasy of my own lovely Pegasus. Did she know that her body and her love gave my heart flight?

And suddenly, it all just snapped into me; everything. How she made me feel, how her smells were alight in my desires, how her eyes made my humblest wishes true, and the shy honesty of her body-

I don't know-it just doesn't feel wrong; like bestiality; like a sin; it felt to be of some fine divination.

Her voice is full, very feminine, it sings and it softly echoes, and it makes me think that every part of her is perfect.

"You are perfect." I rasp, out of breath from staring at her.

She bats her lashes, swivels her ears toward me, and smiles, holding absolutely still as she gazed into my eyes.

Every portion of Lysanna sang wonderfully, just like her voice. She was a song that made me cry with contentment.

"Why do you cry?" She asks, suddenly concerned, sliding her large form towards me and grasping me in those great powerful arms, overpowering me with her strong sweet equine smell. I closed my eyes, wishing this would never end.

"What else is there to do, when in the presence of a goddess?"

Her eyes became thoughtful, as we lay on our sides, embraced, cuddling.

A minute that would not end forever in both our hearts.

She rolled us over, now towering over me, smiling, looking into my face in wonder, slowly inching herself closer to me in endless movement, coming to my lips, placing her own mouth over them and closing her eyes.

I accepted her eagerly, her tongue soft velvet snaking about like a rolled wet pillow, allowing me to taste her, as we caressed each others' tongues, wet flesh sliding along wet flesh, our hot breath shared, her nostrils flared with air, being shoved into my lungs gently, allowing us to stay like this for so long, that the ache of my jaw made me reluctantly stop. I swallowed her and my saliva, looking back into her freshly opened eyes as she was no more than a foot away from my face, her arms braced against the bed.

So soft her eyes, so calm and uncus the roll of those furred buttocks, smoothly round and circular in her straddled dominant position before me upon my waist, towering before me like an idol of equine excellence. The breasts firm hillocks ideally formed for the gaze of the admirer and the touch of the lover's warm hand.

The ankles strange bouncy things, but the eyes penetrate delicately enough with a harmony of boundless affinity. The very essence of Lysanna filled me, even as I desired to fill her with mine.

Even the hands-oh, those soft lovely things!-looked of apt divination and grace, looking of a ladies' fine silken gloves, though I knew it was merely a lighter patch of her white fur on her black skin which created this effect, just as the same occurred to give her dark ankle braces at mid shin and lower to the hoof, though the feathering stayed a wonderful tawny golden-blonde-white like the fine hairs of her mane and tail.

She leans in and grabs my shirt, lifting it off over my head, putting her cheek against my chest.

"I feel it...yes...your heart DOES want me. It races as though it is rushing to claim me." She softly murmurs.

My body shivers from the energy released by this sudden action of hers, leaving me chilled with my own wonder and this fastidious need within me.

Perfection has touched me; a goddess has granted this construct life and purpose before unknown.

And suddenly, the goddess disrobes, leaning fully against me, pulling down her French boy-short looking undergarment, the full heat of her sex flashing against my belly like a passionate cinnamon-like inferno.

My mouth finds itself wide open in surprise as her warmness marinates into me, almost choking my senses with unexpected sensation and all at once!

I rise up, with her still straddling me like a wild bronc, reaching my arms around her to grasp both cheeks of her darker furred backside, nearly cumming with the ecstasy, pulling them apart and making her squeal in surprise with a laugh.

"Naughty boy! Like me arse, do you?"

And thus I sighed blissfully for some time, content with holding one of her most sensitive regions within the palms of each of my hands.

And she was content, until she squealed again with a start, my penis firm and rising against her dark gray perineum, the pre wetting her skin.

"How would you like to ride a REAL horse?" She teased, rising slowly a few inches, allowing my cock to breathe, before spreading her knees and allowing me to see the black rose slowly unfurling and blossoming with its many petals, as it spread daintily to accept the firmness of my protrusion.

"Lover, thy name is Rosaceae, for the lovely bud cums into flower even as I relish you upon thee embellishment." I declare, licking my lips.

"Lover, thy name is Apis mellifera; my gentle little honeybee, take whatever nectar you wish of me, for you are the sweetest little thing here." She returned, giving my 'stinger' the most delicious squeeze of her lovely rose-red lined kegels with a playful snort, rubbing my nose tenderly with her whiskered muzzle.

"Then a soft demand, to perchance; will I be allowed to pollinate this most glorious of roses?" I lightly breathe, smiling, cringing in pleasure from the heat of her body against my masculine extension.

She raises a hand to her mouth to hide a coy giggle, her eyes alight with mischief.

"You may, little bee. For without your attentions, I will not blossom into my fullest splendor. Where art the sense in that?" She teases, giving me another vaginal clamp.

"The art is in the act of pollination itself, then. Neither cannot function without the other. Just as you are my flower, you may too, be my moon, for you shimmer aloft like a heavenly body."

Nothing were of more magnificence than the positive radiance of her glowing gray fur, her light smooth black skinned rose, shining dully in the dawn light like polished obsidian. Her breasts monuments to matriarchal bliss.

I fly, I have touched the moon. I dream, I desert thee to fantasy. I dare, we come together and collide like power untarnished; like electricity alive; like love undivided; like a repertoire of angelic repose. Quenched seldom, never to see the likes of sun and day again.

A costly bargain.

For a heavenly body.

"I love you. You moon me; I am stricken with longing for your absence, and will dream of you, moon, until you rise to my touch again." I whisper, still inside the depths of her, mining pleasure with her soft grinding of my drill upon her baring and spreading tunnel, where spring-water leaks from the flayed maw in copious amounts as though it were to flood in the cramped darkness within.

The rose, the mine of silver, all are apt for the majesty that was this lovers' vulva.

"Beauty, thy name is vanity!" I praise, spun with the power of her passionate desires.

Now, it truly felt in sync, the two of us, lovers by wars' limitations. Sometimes do I make the wrong decision, I make mistakes and I fuck up badly, but this seemed like one of those times...

Yes, one of those times...

Which made life clear and open with a revelation of reason towards our existence.

Heat, god, yes, heat. I felt her warmness all through me, now, not merely upon my penis. Our heat was one, as we both desired to be bred.

Her heat, her essence, it percolates into me, allowing me to feel her passion; urges; estrous;

WILL.

This was true power! To wield this force, to bridle it until it could be released, this was true fierce dominance!

While men think wealth is power, they do not realize the body is the most fearsome force in the world!

Female animals in heat cannot resist it, many smokers cannot resist it, gamblers cannot resist it, a person who has taken milk of magnesia cannot resist it.

No truer power was there, than the urges of the body, and thus when I realized this, I had never before understood how much the female members of the RAF suffered.

Lysanna must have been under great stress to keep this monstrous beast in check, as she stayed sensitive to my shyness.

Power, yes, and now I shared it; a taste. To feel it made one beg for more, for relief.

The smell of her heat flooded deeply within me, making me cringe with my own most profoundest urges. Complete us, let us be one being, if only for an hour. Compel me to taste this most diverse of sensations!

She whinnied, rubbing her muscular hands along my pecs and stomach, leaning forward a moment to give my cheek a lick, as I squeezed her bum in rhythmic pulses to the throbbing of my own cock. Her very mane, soft upon my face, slid along my skin like silken dreams, scarce to distract the will of our combined fire, alight in this moment of our throes-

For eternity, our love, our will-

Combined!

"Take me, stallion!" She roars with a guttural roar.

Stallion! Now, I was honored!

It was a compliment for any man to be called such, more so because she confidently approved of me as her mate.

Not as a second-best war trophy. I saw in her eyes, that I was truly hers, and she was mine for the taking. For however long love lasts.

Love, a diamond which lasts forever.

Her hair golden and worth more to me than the real thing. With love, money loses its importance.

The black rose, the plump petals askew upon my throbbing stem, began to secrete a very fragrant delicious nectar for the benefit of my eyes, my nose, and the skin of my thighs and scrotum, making me shudder like restless earth under her.

Lysanna's breasts bounce most jovially, as she uses me as her personal rocking horse, her tail wagging and slapping my hands lightly which were still upon her curvaceous, warm, silky, and smooth butt.

Ah, the butt of a heavy mare, ever the most desirable to see, to sight, to gaze.

Ah, to wander my fingers upon that flesh, crawling along that sensitive skin, making her laugh and slap at my chest lightly in playful protest as I continued to tickle her ass.

"You naught thing!" She cried, as my fingers spidered along her backside, making her gay and content, and quite full of sexual joy.

"I love your butt. I think it's one of your best features." I muse.

She smiles, beaming with marish pride.

"Draft horses DO receive some of the best parts." She purrs, her eyes alight in mystic delight.

"MMM. What else are you big girls blessed with?"

"The most muscular-Rmmph!- ," she did grunt, giving my cock a most vice-like squeeze with her silky wet lubricated fleshy muscles.

Riding me, riding me, unto the plateau of desires' complete release and withdrawal.

How far will I fall, when we reach the heights, and our engines stall?

HARDER, HARDER, HARDER! Do I now rasp between my teeth, the comfort of her hotness bucking crazily upon me, grinding me into blissful oblivion.

FASTER, FASTER, FASTER! Give this body purchase, let us never fall if we climb the top together!

The rose slides along my pelvis, splattering my testicles with her hot juices, engulfing us in the furnace that was our inferno.

It is hard to grasp her buns, now that we sweat from every over-sexed pore. The sweat coming from her is saccharine and musky with equine fragrance, her curvy muscular chest now slick and shiny like the glittering of pearls, rigid skin standing out firm with draft horsy strength, alight by the low amber glow of the torches and the sun of the morning.

Then, she lies herself, her wet sweaty body, upon my sweaty body, the two of us out of breath, but still unsated.

Her butt and her lower back and her larger than normal shoulder blades feel smooth under the exploration of my probing fingers behind her.

"I do not know what you do back there, but I feel it, and it is refreshing, love."

"Is it?" I muse, sliding one hand down her back, lower-lower-lower.

She jumps up in surprise with a sudden squeal, accidentally knocking me in the mouth with one of her hands.

"You dirty bastard!" She accuses, lining up her rose with my slime-coated stinger, and dropping back down with her equine bulk upon me with a wet slosh.

I lick the finger, which I had lewdly shoved in the puckered opening that was her tailhole.

"Refreshing?" I muse.

"Like a cup of coffee in the morning. A finger in the ol' wazoo is just what a gal like me needs to really get things going!" Said she, coming close to my lips with hers, sharing a long sloppy French, drinking each others' spit like White Zinfadel.

Then I feel the fierce heat of my body-of hers- rising like flight into the heavens, slow euphoric desire.

RISING, RISING, RISING!

Flying to the highest clouds and mountains of eroticism. She feels me about to cum, urges me to hold on with her to delay it, both our engines' cylinders fired up and ready to go up, up, and away into ultimate satiation, an ultimate consensual goal.

Then I scream, she screams.

As one upon the cloudy plateau of urges and release of tension and sexual juices from the both of us, our engines now cooled with each others' fluids, as we glide, glide, glide slowly back down into a satisfaction and mildly rapt blissfulness in our own world.

"We flew! Did you feel it?!" I scream, out of breath, panting.

"That...was bloody amazing. No stallion ever took me that high." She confessed with a tired sigh, embracing me as we slept entwined, exhausted from the exertion of our efforts.

I sleep on as she leaves for her night mission. I sleep through as she comes to have tea with Basil. And, I sleep further still from my tiredness, as she goes to the briefing for her next mission.

Only while SHE sleeps, do I finally have the strength the following morning to go out to the airfield.

The war is now responsible for the scope of all current conditions; a thing ever more undismissable by the hour and inescapable save by means of fatality. I come to realize this quite often as I witness the activities of the field.

Long rows of parked beasts shimmer in the dawn light like bright glorious wide-armed saints, noses tipped with angled wood that appeared blessed. In sharp contrast lies the grass under the wheels, each blade glistening with morning dew. A swelling overtook me in my heart; a profound glory within that made me cry, for I knew what these creatures appeared to be in the skies, the double wings chopping neatly through the thin wispy veils of clouds like a lover stepping through a dream.

Each machine breathed life and vision into me, overflowing my will with the beauty and the need to be up, up, up!

Among the sky and the wind, where I could see all things unbarred like a benign spirit of light heart and wing. This demand upon me, so strange, I ponder it so. Frequently I whisper need into these gravity absent endeavors of heavenly mercies and tenderness.

The mechanics in their goggles take to the grassy field, treating each plane as though it were the most sacred thing in the world, as though gods own these machinations of mortal whim. They know, as do I, that the riders of these canvas wonders depend upon machine and mechanic alike to survive the ever more demanding scope of this wretched thing we call war.

Marches first a seldom few from rest, then many more rise to the field and occasion with yawns, adjusting goggles, jackets, parachutes, gloves, scarves, and other such articles of the trade. Their boots rustle wetly in the morning grass, as they come to each of their machines and climb on in, gauging the instruments and the Vickers' guns, which shined like the swords of crusaders.

Wish them well, up there, for they are the most valiant soldiers the world has ever known. With fear and uncertainty, these pilots paved the way of flight and gave all others following in their flight paths, the wings and guidance to tickle the clouds and fulfill the curiosity that was to glide and cherish and hope.

The last pilot does not go to her plane; she goes to me, her hips sliding in a prideful swagger, the scarf ends blown behind her like a dun streamer, the soft touch of orange sunrise on the glass of her goggles.

"Well a day, Jonas. Come to see me off?" She asks, her tone boding a soft gentleness with a hint of grimness.

She had shared her bed with me, and thus I had known, always known-

She was going to share my heart.

"These skies are no longer friendly. Keep up high to watch out for the Archie positions."

"Oh, aye, love, and plenty of Huns to shoot as well. Sometimes, when I look down, I thank god I'm not down there, where soldiers dig pits and shoot at each other, or where the landscape looks like nothing short of hell itself."

She went right up to me, lifted her glasses, staring at me thoughtfully with her soft eyes and gave me a peck on the cheek, and then a hug, and then a tongue kiss, before crisply turning and making a canter for her craft to catch up with the squadron who had left her behind with their smooth spinning propellers, planes slowly rising to the occasion on a glide of lift, wings wagging and jostling steadily but not exactly straight.

But at her plane, she hesitates. I come to her at a sprint to see what was the matter, as she leans heavily against the side, not climbing the lower wing like a step as the other pilots do.

"What's wrong?"

She tries to hide a sniffle, but it doesn't get past me.

"Nothing." She declares

"Nothing my ass. It's Bruno's death. This was his plane, wasn't it?" I offer, looking at the two twined spitting hooded cobras painted upon the side.

"Yes. We went through our training together. All my other squadmates from that time are either dead, captured, invalids, or reassigned to other sectors. Over London, it was just me and him while the others got put up in France."

"That's horrible. I want you to know some things, Lysanna, lovely."-

In Flanders fields;

"In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The Larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt down, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were love, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch: be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields."

-John McCrae, 1915-

She dries up her face, contemplating my words solemnly for a long time.

"That poem never made sense to me before, but now, yes, I see it." She observed slowly.

"His smell is inside that plane. It will be like he is guiding you through the air. Don't think him lost. Think of him as you knew him before his death."

She hugged me, crying over my shoulder in relief and joy, the leather of her coat crackling and creaking like dry leaves.

Dead leaves are merely the start of a tree's rebirth. That tree cannot mourn for it's foliage forever; it must move on and sprout new leaves and branch out into other relationships.

Maybe-maybe I am the green leaves to ease the passage of the brown committed to the dust.

"How did you become so wise?"

She was heavy and damp to me, but her warm body was comfort to me even now as her affections ensnared me.

"Sometimes you don't know what true wisdom is until you listen to your heart. Though I dream of flying, my heart also loves and comforts you, for you are my entire world."

"Truly?" She declared with surprise.

"Truly. I will never give up on you."

Behind, a mechanic spins the propeller with a quick jerk of his arm, puttering the engine to life, as another mechanic hops out of the cockpit since he had to trigger the ignition.

"It seems my time to go..." Offered Lysanna.

"Yes lover, but never to stray from my heart again."

She gives me a quick kiss and salute before planting her hind hooves firmly on the lower wing and climbing in, giving the tail ailerons a test flap, before proceeding on her way.

The planes stand out against the sight of the sun, as each chassis glints with soft bronzed light from the rising morning glow, and I was ever more deposed to climb into a cockpit and fly like the rest of them, but I knew this was legally impossible as I went over Lysanna's lecture in the back of my mind.

She never knew what a dream deferred felt like, and what was worse than denied being given the absolute freedom of flight?

What could feel better than the feeling of touching the clouds and going anywhere I wanted and soaring close to the sun like Icarus without fear of crashing back to earth?

On the ground, as I watched the squadron take off, I knew that the planes moved slow with the bicycle-looking wheels turning forward, but in the air, they were the fastest thing available to this time, and given the first plane by the Wright Brothers, the design wasn't too disagreeable. In fact, since I'd never flown-except in a passenger plane-the idea of solo flight sounded like the greatest high a person could get, even if it was an antique I was flying-

If I could fly...

The denial hurts. Almost as bad as being castrated, I guess.

And no matter what Lysanna or any other said, it wouldn't change the fact that I felt like less than horseshit, as the pilots took off and left me behind.

A joke-some invisible 'members' only' jacket worn by everyone but me. A special little club. God, doesn't that ever sting to the soul!

But I wasn't too unlucky-a plane had been left bare on the strip without pilot. I could start it up easy and take-off without anyone noticing until it was too late.

Just as I had that thought, the shadow of a plane passed over me like an errant spirit, making me cold with reverence.

It was Lysanna, making a pass to watch over me before she went onto the mission. Then her plane banked sharply vertical into the air, rising through the clouds like a floating cross, her wings spinning in glorious gospel before she was out of sight.

A thing of beauty; now I knew what it was like to see an angel dance, as a shiver went through me like a divine touch to the soul, watching my guardian and lover go.

"Yesterday" played in my head as I gaze after the squadron in forlorn wonder, aching within from the memories I could have had as her wingman were I allowed the chance to fly.

It just wasn't fair!

Why couldn't I just steal a plane? They'd never let me fly, anyway, even if I proved I could. Eight hours on my PC flight simulator surely must come in handy for this! I even had the full steering column for an Osprey two-passenger craft!

Sidling up to this craft, climbing up the wing to look in the cockpit when no one was minding me, I saw that the joystick, an upside down triangle on top of a metal pole, looked like something that belonged on a Teletubbies' head.

On the left side were two flip switches, and some type of gauge on the right. This is as basic as a plane can get.

I jumped off, landing with a thump of my boots to the runway, walking towards the radar station, with its stocking high above on a stick.

Even here, I wasn't welcome; the two guards with their Enfield rifles denied me access, even when I invoked Basils' name.

I guess the RAF manwhore doesn't get any respect from nobody-not even the ladies, considering despite what Lysanna said about the pilots being averse to rape, they still might force me, misled by the involuntary reactions of my body.

It thumps inside me hollowly, thinking that I'm less than a man here because I can't even get into a radio tower.

Wait...

That thumping noise...it wasn't inside me, it was-

Metal hitting metal to the beat of Ozzy Osbourne's and Metallica's "Iron man"

Where...

I went towards the sound to a small shed flanked by piles of unused rusting crap.

A male wolf was crouched over a furnace, shaping a random piece of steel into a long pole.

I watch him, captivated with the orange glow on this early morn.

It slowly became some smooth shaft of metal...a-

"Masterpiece! Let's see how the mates like using this for a joystick!"

I would have elected to leave at that moment, to give him his peace at this job-

But a dislodged tin can disagreed, rolling loudly off a nearby pile. The wolf spun towards me as if he were ever the most dedicated of warriors, each hair tuned to instinct and awareness.

"What?!" And he growls, how he growls!

"Sorry, Sir. I heard you some ways off, wanted to know what was going on."

"No doubt you wonder why I do not fly as the rest do."

That never even crossed my thoughts; I was not familiar with the different personnel roles of the airfield.

He shrugged, tossing down the hammer with a dull dusty thud to the ground.

"In the RAF, I was the best. I took out Jerry faster than he could sneeze. Until-"

Then as he turned to face me, I saw the horror that was his right paw; there was nothing left but a twisted stump like a festering crooked tree branch.

"Jesus!" I whine.

"Jerry got lucky with a flak gun and blew my hand right off. Nowadays, I'm just the camp Hephaestus. I might not be lame, but I feel just as useless."

"At least you got to fly. I can't because I'm just a human."

"Just a human, hmmm? Seems the two of us should have ourselves a pity party."

"The more the merrier." I joke.

"Or rather, with such depression, you wouldn't be merry at all." I amend.

He looks at me curiously, from the corner of his eye.

"And what is a human doing here, anyway?"

"Lysanna recruited me...for sexual congress."

The wolf laughs.

"So, they finally discovered a solution to THAT problem! I might have been able to fly, but I would never, even in my dreams get to bugger the likes of any of THOSE pilots! Even without my hand, I am still in the RAF, by technicality, so the girls are off-limits by protocol-sake! You might never fly, but as the base gigolo, you are doing things which we other members of the RAF are envious of you for!"

"It certainly is hard work," declares I, "I was exhausted for a few days by mine and Lysanna's passions. But, I just don't see why I should feel privileged-well-except for the fact that me and Lysanna love each other tenderly."

The wolf gave me a speculative look.

"Do you? It'll pass when you take your next job." He grunts.

"But I don't want it to. I have her love still inside me!"

The wolf gave a cruel vindictive laugh, almost a whine.

"You don't have a bloody choice, boyo. I'm not allowed to do your job because of the reason that you insist upon; this is war, we have others' needs to worry about. Besides, she's as likely to die as any other in the skies. Even great pilots meet their end, there's no help for that."

Die...

Suddenly I felt pitch coldness within my being.

She could die.

"No, she's too good. It won't happen."

"Twenty kills, rotating out into liberty for a few weeks of rest. It'll happen; all people short on duty hours die. It's like Murphy's law taken literally. Things are going too good for her, she's bound to fail soon."

There was no basis for that reasoning; most who were due to go on R&R actually did survive to go home.

But somehow, against astronomical odds...

I knew deep inside...

That he was right.

"Fuck."

The end of Autumn leaves and camel feathers; part two

It was March 1917, the following day after I talked with the wolf. The event was postponed much, but even in this alternate world where parachutes were invented and U-boats unknown;

The Fokker Eindecker still came to town. The Eindecker was a German single-winged aircraft. You never heard about it in those documentaries, because all the ace's of this era flew on multi-winged planes.

Eindecker was deadly, fast, and simple.

"The Fokker threat."

The waiting is the worst; Lysanna went out again today to go against these new planes as they were en route to protect some Kate bombers across the channel to the coast on the Huns' side.

I have been without her touch for only a day, but I burn savagely with need of her.

This is the impossible thing; computer nerds are so fixated on work, some rarely date. But I have found something far rarer than the first Apple PC; I found sincere love.

All details of her body sing glorious gospel to me, each sensual curve a teasing perversity of angelic repose.

The sex no longer bothers me; not after the things we did together several mornings ago when we met. No, how could it, when I fondly think that I flew high and saw heaven upon the carriage of her thighs.

Above comes the sound of rapid buzzing, looking up, I see the gray metal and canvas of a lone Eindecker monoplane-before it glides a distance off, crashing in a derelict field.

It was here, an idea struck me.

I follow the running soldiers with their Enfield rifles, as they go off to see the condition of the enemy pilot.

What fortune!; the pilot had been killed, but his machine hardly scratched! The soldiers take his body from the cockpit; the propeller grinding into the dirt due to the broken landing gear until someone shut it off.

If I act fast...

I ran hard for the hut of the wolf.

"Sir!"

He barely took notice of me, as he pounded upon another glowing rod of slag-steel, sparks flying with each strike of a hammer.

"Yes, what is it?"

"They shot down a German plane! It landed nearby."

He sighs tiredly, heaving those muscular shoulders, wiping sweat off his brow with the stump of his bad arm.

"So what?"

"The plane is almost undamaged. If we work together, we can fix it."

This time, his ears perk up in rapt interest, as he drops his work in the dirt, suddenly facing me.

"What the hell are you talking about, yank?"

"Most of the bullets hit the pilot. We just need to fix the wheels and maybe replace a few engine parts. And given your skill with the forge, you can probably build those parts."

"And why the hell are you telling me this? You could get the parts from someone else; there are lots of smithy services in Britain. And then you would fix this thing and keep it to yourself."

"No, I don't have the authority OR permission to retrieve the plane nor maintain it as my own. My idea was-"

"To use MY RAF rank to get it myself for "research and development". What are we working with?"

"One of the Hun's new monoplanes."

The wolf gave an amused laugh;

"How can an aero plane with only one pair of wings fly? I just don't see how it's possible!"

I wait anxiously for his consent, not absolutely sure what Heph would say, but pretty sure.

"You in? You get the plane on weekends; maybe you can take it to a carnival or movie while we work through our custody battle."

The wolf turns thoughtful, his face pointed to the sky...

"To fly again, I've dreamed about such an opportunity! Yes, yank, you will fly, and I will fly-and because it's not one of ours and we're 'testing' it, the RAF won't care."

My very own plane; now the military brass cannot clip my flight wings again.

"How'd you like your anniversary present?" Declared Lysanna.

I had been drinking from a long bottle of wine, celebrating my good fortune, so her surprise appearance made me choke on my current pull, spitting some spastically out.

"What?"

"I said, what did you think of that nice plane?"

"You-you-sent it?!"

She nods emphatically, breasts wiggling.

"Uh huh, more or less. Poor bastard flying it was green; so it was easy to take my time killing him without damaging his machine much. The sticky wicket was actually getting the damn thing to land nearby the airbase!"

"Wow, I really don't know what to say."

She closes her eyes halfway in a seductive glance, putting a hooflet finger to my mouth.

"Then don't say anything. We both know how you can thank me."

"Mmm." I knew what she meant by that.

After going over the damage of the plane, the wolf using his authority to have it set up in an unused hangar by his shack, I leave, a smile on my face as I think fondly of the time ahead with my love-mare.

Coming into the bunkhouse of the female RAF members; where I conveniently had been set up myself on a cot in the corner of the hearth-warmed room-I pause, hearing many things stir within.

I had been assured that we would be alone, Lysanna and I.

Entering this place, however, left me breathless; every single female pilot was in this building and bare before my view, each staring expectantly up at me from their seats, bunched up together on two nearby beds.

At my slack-jawed expression, Lysanna whinnied toward me with an amused smile.

"I apologize, I should have told you your little gift was a combined effort by all of us, and I didn't think it was fair if I let my comrades go on thanked improperly, but if I told you you would be seeing more pussy than an over-booked OB/GYN, I feared I might frighten you away."

"But-I love you-and only you!" I protested.

"And you didn't think I wouldn't share with my sisters-in-arms?"

She gazes at me seriously, coming forward and stroking my chin.

"Lovely, you are mine and nothing will change that. I don't think your betraying my love, this is just part of your job."

"But-" I begin.

"Here, why don't I have them introduce themselves? Maybe you'll be more comfortable if we weren't all a bunch of naked strangers, aye?"

My heart pounds uncertainly, my breath is erratic, my body moves restlessly. This all makes me so nervous and shy!

She points at a comely creature who had small nostrils and a cute tiny tail. She was even bigger than Lysanna and better endowed in cleavage, a silk scarf wrapped around that smooth gray-skinned throat. Her butt was big, and her thighs were thick. Her eyes were soft and sincere, perhaps quite endearing.

"This is Kivra. If you didn't figure it out by now, she's a hippo cow. If you like butts so much, she's the gal who loves it."

The next femme Lysanna points out is the sober lioness Greta, her gold-colored breasts pert on her chest, the slitted eyes lending her an exotic look, her tail wrapped around her hip like a belt.

"Greta you know, more or less. Don't worry; I set her straight-no more scratching post shit."

The next female pointed out to me was colored a dark green with scales which shined like new plastic. Her eyes were strange, but I found her increasingly interesting; not necessarily to have sex with, but despite the odd toothy smile, I was not repulsed, nor by the spiked fatness of her thick tail.

"Allie crocodile of the Nile; leave you breathless as she smiles. By your stare, I can see that you do not find her revolting."

"No. I would..." I trail off, as she lifts those segmented white breasts in her hands, licking one nipple as she smiled. "...damn."

The next was a feathered beauty with a sharp beak and thin taloned feet. The feathers made her body...interesting, her sexy tail looking like a spread 18th century fan.

"Kate here, is a hawk. She's the one who spotted your new toy. She is quite good with that beak of hers."

I'll bet. There was something indeed, to be said of those feathers accentuating her curves in just the right way.

The last was a startling sparkly female of mythological equine stock.

"Glori. She's quite the impish trickster; you'd best keep your liquor hidden away, else you might find yourself drinking a twenty-dollar bottle of water! Sometimes, she helps us get past sobriety tests with her special magic. And...if you like oral, a unicorn is the place to start-;they have nice cinnamon tasting body fluids, so kisses and cunnilingus are a plus!"

I simply stared at the one-horned horny beauty.

"Bullshit. Nobody I know tastes like cinnamon!" I protest.

Glori gets up, smiling as she opens her muzzle and attacks me with those bared white lips, and to my shock as she savagely assaulted me with a French kiss, I realized she did indeed taste of cinnamon!

"Nobody YOU know, Jonas, but how many unicorns have you ever met before today?"

"I don't know, but I'm starting to grow a horn of my own!"

The RAF pilots giggled coyly in response to my dirty comment.

But then I frown, rethinking that statement, almost frightened by the idea of being faced with so much activity.

The single tryst with Lysanna exhausted me, how could I have the stamina for such an enormous opportunity of lust?

And even more so, the betrayal of my love. It made no difference what she said to assuage me, I still felt I was being unfaithful-even with her here!

"It is no use; I've sworn myself in honor to you, and that is all I care about. Hang me for treason, but I cannot betray you in the most ultimate of ways! Love mare, please do not force me so! To be given such a choice be as if it were the devil's bargain!"

At first, Lysanna is much discouraged, but soon her eyes light up with inspiration, her cheekbones taking the color of a cherry red due to some embarrassing thought.

"When we first made love, it was much the same; you wouldn't bed me so willingly unless your choices had dwindled away, and you were left bare of any guilt or responsibility." She muses.

When I heard that, I was surprised, for she had hit upon some secret I knew not of myself.

"Yes, it must be true; bondage frees the mind of worry, so they say. If a person is helpless to affect the situation, all guilt is gone, for things cannot be helped if I am powerless."

The naked femmes gaze curiously at our discourse, wondering what this new truth would bring.

A new idea struck Lysanna as she turned to face Kivra.

"Kivra? Remember that amusing thing we watched march of last year at your farm?"

"What of it?" Mused the hippo, confused.

"Notice how even a creature of great power was controlled with the attentions of smaller beings as he was forced to do his "duty"?"

"Yes I do. Is that your idea, then, Lysanna, dear?"

I frowned, unsure of what this discourse was in reference to.

"Yes. I think you still keep some of the equipment handy, do you not? In case someone were to let you have at their own animal?"

"Wartime England is a good a time for a ride as any." Returns Kivra, mirthfully.

The hippo got up, leaving the bed with a soft ripple of her plump ass as she went to her own chest, bending over to give me a good view of her short-haired and gray-skinned pussy, making me stare and drool. Both cheeks were rounded deliciously, making them look quite the tempting target to squeeze.

"I really AM an ass guy!" I muse in wonder.

She turns to face me, smiling with those interesting teeth, a length of rope and a short little riding whip held in her hands, big beautiful breasts bouncing, sauntering confidently by me, facing the others, now.

I however, was still content to stare at that big gray rounded ass, with that cute tassel of a tail flicking about nervously. I was so devoted to her tush that I barely heard anything Kivra said.

Just as she had planned it.

"...Ready, then? All set with the plan?"

What?

The pilots smile mischievously, nodding.

I must have missed something important.

"Now!" Kivra roars excitedly.

Suddenly, the pilots all charge for me as one, trying to grab me. Fortunately, I had enough warning to avoid the first assault, twisting out of Greta's and Allie's frantic horny paws, but just barely.

"Shit! Get him Glori!" Lysanna laughed, seeming to turn it all into a game.

I see her coming fast to the left, jumping my hardest for a bunk nearby, landing on the mattress easily, climbing a ladder to the top bunk, looking to the ceiling rafters with hope from this strange situation.

"Damn he's fast. If he's that good at running away, imagine how good he is at fucking!" Mused Kate, her feathered cheeks red with a horny blush.

The others nod, staring uncertainly at me hanging off the rafters upside down on the ceiling like spider man or something.

"Kivra, he'll tire eventually, in that position. We've waited this long for a good fucking; five or so minutes can't hurt." Lysanna declared, pointing at her bunk.

"And for god sake', somebody put that under him in case he falls; we want to yiff him, not beat him up!" Lysanna ordered.

Allie complied, dragging the mattress to the floor, ready to catch me if I lost my grip. Kivra waited right next to the mattress, rope ready in her paws. I would find more humor in this, did it not feel like I were being pressed into service to fuck a bunch of animals.

Wait, what the hell is wrong with me?! Did I not get horny when I saw Kivra's big ass, or when Allie licked her tits, or when a unicorn kissed me and I wondered what her pussy tasted like?

I drooled at the thought of all those naked femmes, rubbing my bulging tent of a crotch against the beam I held onto, fantasizing what the following event would bring.

"Shit! Look at him go! He's gonna breed himself out on that wood before any of us get a lick at him!" Declared Kate, dumbfounded.

Lysanna smiled. Motioning Kivra towards herself.

"I know what he wants. He wouldn't be in this mess if he hadn't been staring at Kivra's bum in the first place; he would have heard our plan and run away, or he'd have been so distracted, that we could have caught him already. Let's show him what hippos are good for, eh Kiv?"

Kivra grins, slapping her ass with an audible pop, the flesh rippling deliciously like jell-o, bending herself over on all fours, lifting her ass high in the air for me to stare at.

Looking down, I was mesmerized, fantasizing about touching it and playing with it, drooling copiously, my prick now hard as a rod of steel.

Then I looked on in shock as Lysanna mounted Kivra backwards, sticking her fingers in the hippo's pussy, rubbing the juice all over those bouncy succulent cheeks, now all shiny with fluid which smelled overpoweringly of her heat.

Then four fingers go into that big tailhole, stretching it wide open with a grunt from Kivra, as Greta kneeled down to use her paws to separate those gray buns even more, giving me a good glimpse of that tasty pussy.

Then Glori took her hand and slowly began to work a few of her fingers in the hippo's vulva, her white furred wrist now wet; slippery, each finger slowly working the hot flesh in delicious attention, now up to her knuckles, the hippo grunting in response.

"Yes! Fuck me Glori! Give me your WHOLE arm!" Groans Kivra in randiness.

The unicorn is patient, with each delving stroke into the hot inner hippo flesh, fluids drooling around and dripping down her thighs to the floor.

I close my eyes in ecstasy, wishing that were my dick tearing her apart.

"You like to watch, don't ya, silly human?" Glori giggles, working half her arm into the tight walled space of hippo muff, fucking Kivra slow with powerful shoves, rocking Lysanna above on Kivra's back.

I wish I could take my pants off and jerk to this, but if I let one hand go, I would fall.

Fuck it; why did I want to miss this?

I let go, falling for eternity, landing with a hard-almost painful thump to the mattress.

The pilots smile in victory, making no immediate effort to subdue me, continuing to fuck Kivra haplessly, Lysanna now having a whole fist in the hippo's tailhole, working it around, as Greta sucked playfully on that tassel of a tail, moaning happily.

I continue to watch, taking my clothes off. Soon, I'm sitting on the bed naked with an erect cock, still enjoying the show.

But as I reach down to paw off, I get a stinging slap from behind. I turn to face Kate and Allie in surprise, the hawk holding the short riding whip; a crop.

"Naughty stallion! No masturbation for you! How can you breed this lovely herd of 'mares' if you spend all your seed now?!" The hawk chastised, Allie, grinning, wags a finger reprovingly.

So I sit and watch, trying to control myself. Unfortunately, during the course of this orgy, I get whipped three more times.

I knew what they wanted me to do; service the mares like a horny stallion.

"Can't I just jerk off once?" I ask timidly.

The hawk lifts my chin up to face her with the crop.

"Next time I see your hand over there, I'm gonna flog your cock!" She threatened, whipping the air.

Ouch!

So I just sit there, trying to stay focused but without the use of my hand. How did those horny guys in strip clubs manage this?! Then again, I know the dancers didn't perform such graphic sexual acts on each other!

When Kivra orgasmed, spraying Glori in the face with her pussy fluids, I whimpered helplessly, desperate to release my own fluids.

Suddenly, I find a hot steamy alligator ass in my face, roughly shoving me down against the bed, as I feel my arms and legs pinioned, held in place by many arms, barely struggling as I find a hot mouth engulfing the full length of my penis, slurping along the whole shaft making me shiver, hot breath echoing off the tender skin of my organ.

I feel itchy rope on my hands, securing them, as the alligator removes that succulent warm crack, the femmes forcing me onto my side, my arms now being bound behind my back-and I loved every minute!

Glori still has a fun time sucking my shaft, as I lay helplessly there, dominant females kneeling by me at all sides. All drooling at the thought of having my throbbing tool in each of them.

"How many mares can you breed, stallion?" Lysanna playfully teased, spanking me lightly in the ass in a teasing manner.

"As many as I can until I drop and die." I moan, drooling, feeling that soft tongue caress my cock-flesh like nothing I've ever felt. I almost want to melt in that unicorns' muzzle.

"Glori, if you don't stop it, that's gonna count as your fuck." Lysanna warns, observing my slowly building climax from the slight shaking of my thighs and my shallow breaths.

The unicorn sloooooowly pulls away, now licking the very tip like a Popsicle, slurping pre as it leaked out.

"How's that?" She moans, pleasuring me with that silky tongue.

"Better. We don't want to make it too easy. He should breed US, not the reverse!" Lysanna observed with a coy laugh, as she stroked my chin like I were her happy pet.

"I already had mine; I'll suck his dick! It would be such a waste to have all that seed in my pussy, anyway!" Kivra offered, her thighs slippery with her leaking fluids as she stood there, her pussy gaping from it's raw treatment, her legs wide open, giving me the perfect view at her crotch from below.

On the one hand, I wanted to cum right now! But on the other, I'd already been tempted to fuck that big juicy hippo ass.

"No, no! Please let me fuck your ass! I want your pussy so bad!"

Kivra laughs at that, slapping her jiggly ass again.

"You want a piece of this, do you?"

I nod shyly, blushing, drooling, and almost ready to cum.

"You heard him, mares! Our stallion has picked his first mating!"

Suddenly, I find myself being lifted gently to my knees, Kivra aiming that delicious slime covered booty at me. Glori uses some of Kivra's juice to lubricate my penis, from the time she had been fisting the hippo. It was still warm, so I enjoyed the feeling of this 'preview'. Her heat was also delicious, as the aroma of it carried to my gusting excited nose.

Then as one, they shove me at Kivra, Glori's hand firmly on my cock, guiding it towards the hippo's juicy pussy. In one guided thrust, I am hilt deep in the delicious hot cunt, doubled over her back and sighing in bliss.

"You silly stallion! Your not supposed to rest until you're done!" Teases Allie, slapping me hard on the butt with the riding crop, rudely awakening me from the pure pleasure of this wonderful feeling.

So I slowly grind her pussy, enjoying the hotness of her passage, each push a reverie into pure desire, and each shove a step to the pedestal of ecstasy.

Each grunt, each splatter of hot juice dripping down my thighs makes me wish this never ended, almost moaning, almost screaming; feral from the sex.

"Fuck me stallion, fuck me!" Kivra growls, clenching my thighs between those succulent gray ass-cheeks, enshrouding my naked body in her pure heat-scented warmth, each thrust into that pussy heaven.

I breath hard with the coming of my orgasm; the coming of some exhaustion. My super-sexed body fills her with what feels like a cup of seed, as I crumple to her back helplessly, exhausted.

"Not bad for the premier gigolo of Britain." Teases Greta.

They look on, thinking.

"Who's gonna go next?" Kate mused.

"Whoever needs it the most; I had mine three days ago, so I'm fine going last-if he can 'last' that long."

I didn't know what I could do, spending much of my energy on the hot pussy of one horny horny hippo.

I don't remember how long I was on her-in her-when I rested, just that when I recovered, I would be doing more 'breedings'.

"Hah, it'll probably be between Glori and Allie." Greta wryly observed, "I mean, shit, look at the way we had to practically drag her off his dick!"

Allie grins, exposing those sharp scary teeth, licking her pink nail polished claws, the wide white segments of her belly and tail shining in the candlelight-a tail as thick as a basketball diameter, slowly tapering off in fatness to a nice polished nub as big as a persons' fist.

"I'd like to see Glori first; let's see how the stallion enjoys a unicorn in estrus." The alligator mused.

I sigh tiredly, dropping to the floor off of Kivra with a wet sweaty thump. Every pore and muscle screamed for rest, but every cell in my erection disagreed, especially as I saw the sweet smelling equine sit herself in front of me, her legs spread out, her vulva against the cold lumber floor, and not less than five inches away, steaming warmth against my cheek and dripping copious amounts of fluid. She proceeded to trickle this essence out in a tiny clear-colored spice-scented stream towards my tired face there plastered to the ground.

My eyes follow that delicious fluid, my tongue flicks out in an attempt to drink it as it puddled out towards me.

"Don't you want to taste it at the source?" The uni mare teases, shoving her crotch at my sideways-turned head, filling my face with her equine warmth.

I sigh in tired post-orgasmic bliss, content to be used as her toy as she masturbates herself on my nose and outstretched tongue like a dildo, as I sate myself on her erotic drink.

Sugar and spice and everything nice...

Drooling, my thoughts muddled with hyper-sexed emotions.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's enchanted!" Kivra observed, catching my cum as it leaked out of her cunt, and slurping it from the palm of her paw.

The heat of this passage is enough to make me happy as I recover from my first mating. Maybe I could take Glori as soon as five minutes if my body's libido didn't betray me so soon.

"This stallion wants to fuck you savagely with his raging tool when he gets up." I muse, that nice pink fleshy gaping opening enshrouding my face.

She giggles shyly in amusement, sending vibrations down to her nether lips, clenching the muscles seductively on my nose as she 'winked' on me, her clit bouncing about like a cherry-colored toy.

Let me spend myself on that fun little adventure. Hunting unicorn, and then some. I thought about how funny that would be to try boasting to my friends that I fucked a unicorn. Nobody will believe this, and if I tell anyone I screwed a horse, hippo, lion, hawk, and alligator, they'd just think I was some sick pervert.

Not that a socially spayed loser cares about any of those such things.

The sugary drenching torrents of her fluid felt refreshing on my skin, her scent wafting powerfully, fiery to my nose, making my dick as firm as a crystal rod. Each second, I felt it coming to life; me to life, as it raged for further congress like a beast trying to become unfettered from it's bonds.

Come to Jonas. I will rip that pussy in half with my vicious tool.

And as her cinnamon scent drenched and burned through me, I felt the hotness of my seed leak from my peeslit from before when I fucked Kivra.

"How would you like that heat on your tool?" Glori mused, practically sitting on my face with her spread slit.

"But I am weary, I cannot."

She smiled, getting herself up, leaving my nose moist and slick with her juice, now poising that warm white furred ass above my hips, her knees bending, her puss stretched open, as she went low slowly, breasts wiggling off one another in jiggling waves, the pink nipples perky to alertness with her horniness.

"But I am not, little stallion. Sit back and let horny me do all the work!"

Then her cunt landed in my lap hard, making me gasp from the surprise and pleasure. As she began to buck and ride me like a toy, I knew I might have some vitality left in me for this night, after all.

She grinds on me roughly, dispelling my previous impression of her being a sweet innocent maiden-loving creature.

"I thought unicorns only liked virgins." I remark, making Kate and Greta laugh hard.

There must be some private joke somewhere that I missed as Glori began to blush even as she used me like a rocking horse.

She had her warm hands on my chest, and as I lay there, I felt horny enough to be ridden upon by all of them like an unsated pussy loving palfrey. Nothing like a fine pleasure ride for buoying the spirits.

"Virgins are hard to find, in this age. Besides, they are too intoxicating for me to stay sober, although, it is fun to see what one does to me from time to time."

This threw me for a loop! Virgins made unicorns drunk? How did that work?

But then, the rising sensation of my orgasm in her silky burning pussy distracts me, as my thighs and anal muscles begin to cringe in preparation.

"Harder! I'm almost there!"

She happily obliged me, and began sliding two fingers all over her clitoris to speed up her own climax.

"Mmm...you feel that, don't you bitch?" She murmured playfully with a cute rosy red blush on her ivory cheekbones.

The force of it explodes in her, leaving me empty and tired, ready to be discarded. I lay back as she gets off, her and my fluids leak out as our organs slowly separate with strings of viscous stickiness pulling away like melted gobs of clear taffy.

I rest as I feel a slight draft on my drenched crotch and slippery sore shaft.

"My turn!"

I look up into the horny face of Allie.

The look of her demanding steamy body was almost scary, her skin slick and shiny like new darkened emerald colored plastic. Everything about her shone green with segmented slithery grace, yellow eyes like a snake, teeth showing like spikes of ivory.

Frightening, and yet I found myself drawn to the reptile with the clammy smooth segmented scales. The beautiful tan and whitish hued belly and crotch skin parted ever neatly with a thick swatch of hairless dripping flesh in two sparkling plump pussy lips.

"Do you want me?" She remarked with that toothy scary grin.

Did I not? I found myself musing as if more than a hypothetical question.

"Are you going to eat me?" I return, almost in jest, half serious.

My words make her laugh with a heave of those shiny segmented yellow-white breasts, the teats neatly erect like gold pegs.

"What do you have in mind for eating? Ever fancied eating a crocodile?"

My eyes are rheumy as I melt into the hardwood floor, covered in unicorn pussy fluid. It won't taste like cinnamon, but I already knew that. Strangely, though, I still felt horny enough to go at it with the warm skinned scaly female with the hypnotic slitted eyes and plump adorable length of segmented tail.

You never think about the possibility of what it would be like to bed a reptile. Maybe a goat or a ewe or a cow-but not bringing back a date from the Everglades.

Looking at her size, I realized that I was only bigger than Glori and Kate; every other female made me look like a toy to them-almost, they were close to twice my size, and strangely, while they were weaker than the males of their species, they were stronger than me. Although, if I were to fight one of them, I could not even have hope going against Glori-the smallest-whom was really just about my size.

"How are we going to do this?" I ask tiredly, enjoying the fumes of mare estrous juice.

Allie flopped to the floor upon her back, thudding with a padded noise against the wood as she wagged her tail side to side, scuffing up the ground, lines of dust and dirt drawn neatly by the spiked vertebrae of her prehensile appendage.

"You are going to wiggle up on my body and fuck me in your armless squirming way like a snake. Sound like fun?"

It did, actually. The idea of such a challenge reinvigorated me for more sex. I remember running my body all through the slick sex fluids on the floor of Kivra and Glori, as the femmes laughed in good fun of my tired sex-battered body winding it's way towards her big slimy reptile cunt.

She laughed at me and had good fun when I only managed to get my chin on the thick of her tail thus far, scrunching up uncomfortably like an inchworm somewhat and throwing my helpless self over every hard-one inch across those steamy slick soft segments of hairless skin.

Then she crunched up her upper body enough to reach out and grab me in her big clawed hands and dunked me hard in her pussy, completely stuffing my head in her hole.

It was a slick fragrance and warmth that greeted me as I coughed, pulling and fighting my way out with surprise, as her vagina clamped over me and made escape difficult.

But when I did escape, those sweet fun-loving slitted eyes were there to greet me.

"Mmm. Now to see how it feels with your other half of anatomy." She remarked, lifting me further up her body until my dick was firmly lodged in her sticky reptilian folds, my head trapped between two mountains of pillowy crocodile breast flesh.

Even as that happened, her tail coiled about right over my back and separating my legs in a wide berth, making me feel like I were in a horse's saddle.

Then, I realized I wouldn't be doing anything; her tail with vigorous hard muscles did all the work!

She grinded me in and out of her pussy by basically turning herself into a rocking horse instead, and all she had to say was 'giddy up', and the scene would be complete.

I blushed as she used me like a fun toy for herself, in and out of her croc cunt like a dark forest green tornado of a romp.

"Ooooooooh...go faster..." I begged, breathless, as that toothy grin worked with a horny lick, and a deep scarlet blush of her own.

And I felt her crotch rumble as it got ready to explode. I rode her for what felt like eternity as she used me to work up her gradual but devastating climax.

Then she came, her body twisting drake-like in the throes of her immense passion, bucking all about as I tried to stay on board desperately, but found myself flung through the air into the waiting ready arms of Lysanna as a gush of reptilian pussy fluid followed me like a stream from a powerful garden hose, hitting me and the shire mare with a drenching heat-scented spray.

"Wow." Was all I could say, as Kate points to herself.

"Good thing you didn't orgasm, too. I think you need all the energy you can get if you are going to play with all of us tonight." Remarked the hawk, waving her fan-like tail in a seductive and sexy avian way.

"Not you, birdy; it's time for kitty to play." Purred out Greta, shoving Kate playfully out of her way as she casually sauntered over to Lysanna and me in her usual proud feline gait.

"Meow, tiger. Care to see how things work on the Savannah?" She whispered, licking the claws of one hand, wagging that tail about seductively.

I peered into those lioness eyes shyly as she reached out to stroke my chin with a paw, her talons tucked safely away.

"Remember I'm not on the menu, right?" I nervously joke.

"My dear casanova. You just fucked a "cold" "heartless" crocodile. How much worse can I be? At least we're from the same genus!"

"Forgive me; we humans put too much stock in 'human only' relationships." I return in jest, as Lysanna suddenly dumps me to the floor with a dirty little snicker.

She looks down, wagging a hoovie finger at me in amusement;

"And when, little stallion, has that kept you from bedding me!"

"So true. I seem to forget that we could all be food to something out there-or sex partners."

I looked up at the soft downy golden fur of the lion femme, and right up those slick pouty open lips of her kitty mound. Mmm, how delicious she looked, all open and wild and horny like that. Predators in heat always made me curious and strangely amenable to their powerful actions and desires.

She crouched down on all fours and raised her tail high in the air like a golden lightning rod. Those full bronzed tits hung loosely between her lithe muscular arms as a blush took shape all over her happy smiling and kinky face.

"What do YOU want?" I declare, remembering that the different girls had different styles for how they wanted to be yiffed.

"Kitty wants some milk..."

She took a long teasing lick of my erect slippery cock, teasing my crotch with those long silvery whiskers.

Then she flipped me on my back hard, and shoved her crotch roughly down the length of my joystick.

"But I want your creamy goodness in here!" She ammends with a horny laugh followed by a lecherous purr.

Here we go again.

I brace myself to be ridden in this manner not by a unicorn, but a horny powerful lioness instead!

Her breasts bounced deliciously with each little rock of her silky furred legs on my pelvis and thighs, as her lion juice squirts out in steamy little trickles playfully down my burning lusty shaft, and tickling right along the attentive taut skin of my ball sack.

She tugs slowly on her ears, ruffles the fur of her face slowly, and then begins to caress her breasts with strokes of her hands as the other femmes stare and laugh in good fun at the strange sight before them.

Then Greta begins to whine like an alleycat in heat as her pussy clasps hard over my tool, milking it in sudden muscular bursts of waving needy horniness.

Then nothing as she collapses onto my chest tiredly as her orgasm dumps another fresh hot supply of pussy juice all over my waist and thighs.

"Was that good for you, too?"

Then she rolls off me, so sated from her horniness that she actually falls asleep!

I sigh in frustration, as I had been denied my own orgasm a second time, but that's okay, I'm sure the sexy hawk wouldn't let me down!

I look up at her, surprised at her own level of suppressed randy desire.

Kate, as I soon found, was more bold in her attempts at sex. Hawks proved to be more predatory, and it was no surprise that these instinctual habits carried over.

She had such nice green eyes, her feathered sexy body brown with smoothed and manicured silky patterned brown feathers, her tail like an outspread fan or a handful of playing cards laid bare before a gamblers' eyes.

Strange to watch the ruffled feathers of those nice brown globes on her ample chest. Stranger still to watch her suck her fluffed fingers in that astute pert beak of hers, which if she so desired, could chop through me like a lightsaber through Tungsten-steel doors.

Such vicious beaks were scary, as they were tools of death in more primitive times-what would it do to my worm?!

For good reason, her nose gave me some worry.

"I do hope there's some of you left for fun with me?" She teased, smiling.

But her mirth made me shudder when my thoughts strayed back to what happens when the worm meets the early bird. Deep down, I knew she had no desire to hurt me, but then, irrational fear never listens. It took me awhile to respond, when something warm, wet, and sticky rammed itself into my face-and it tasted like cinnamon-

Then I didn't care; I had to fuck something!

The hawk began to mount my thighs, as the unicorn had mounted her delicious spiced pusst right on my face.

I felt her reach down, grabbing my cock in her assertive fingers/wingtips, shoving it hard into her pussy with a coy grunt, a deep scarlet blush on her cheeks.

-Then she began to taunt me-

"Was that so hard?"

No; the feeling of her tight tunnel on my rod made me wonder why I had trouble listening to my libido instead of my fear.

"What big eyes you have." I remark into that pink unicorn pussy as Glori giggles, Kate's breasts bounce on me with fun jiggly jugginess with each of her rough domme pussy rams.

But still, as the dominant hawk took me for her own, and pinched my nipples, damn, did it feel fucking great!

Glori ground her nether lips all over my face with hard sliding movements as I managed * somehow * to see the vaginal fluid begin to saturate the downy feathers all about Kate's spread labia.

She uses my joystick to guide us both through enormous storm fronts of pleasure, and clouds of bliss.

Then she loses it as she plummets right on top of my chest; her pussy spraying wildly like a water cannon which had never been used in a long time, splattering my cold clammy sticky crotch and upper legs and balls, and even anus in a new wave of female sex fluid, warming me for the briefest time from the drafts and cold, before she gives my rod a few more tough grinding sore shoves and gets off the ride.

Now, of course, I had been used three times without relief myself, and it was so maddening, and I was so horny, I practically wanted to scream!

"Awww, whatsa matter? Is our stud in need of some good use?" Giggled Glori, who enjoyed using my face as a stool for her soft warm unicunt.

"Don't tease our stallion so. We both know that it is hard to be horny and without release." Lysanna observed seriously, chiding the unicorn.

"Yes. Do you want me to fix that, or should I?" Glori replied, blushing and ashamed of her callousness.

Lysanna, lovely beautiful big thing she was, began to ponder that briefly with rubs of her cute whiskered equine muzzle.

Then she crouched down, flaying her big gray-black lipped pussy wide open for my luscious horny view.

"I think he wants me to do it, doncha stud?" Lysanna mused with an adorable little whinny laugh at my shy but clearly lusty response.

"Should I keep my seat?" Glori remarked, grinning rather mirthfully as her long tail with the tufted fluffy-haired tip thumped excitedly, batting all about my chest and belly.

"I think you must. He has become accustomed to your lovely nether warmth." The shire joked, as she crawled toward me on hands and knees, those wonderful breasts hanging like sexy chandeliers upon a balcony dais.

Then she bent her head low and began to suck and lick softly over my cock as though she were slowly savoring a fresh and succulent carrot. Her tongue slides all over my organ, lubricating it with her saliva as she tastes the different fluids of her fellow pilots all over my rod, cupping my balls in one hand and playing with the tender flesh with light kneading strokes.

Lysanna then uses her teeth to nibble along my shaft and head, pinching the flesh ever gently in the powerful muscled jaw. She goes all over my cock and balls, enjoying me like an equine delicatessen of sorts.

I relax in the many countless waves of tongue strokes and luscious tender licks until-

Sudden warmness surrounds my member as she takes the whole length greedily in her delicate black-lipped horsy mouth, blustering hard tickling gusts from her nostrils in horny rythmic gusts of attentiveness. I look on as she swats about her little tail and drops of fluid leak from her behind in wonderful smelling estrous mare juice.

She goes faster, sticking that tongue into my peeslit, and tears the head roughly apart with those forceful tongue strokes as the heat and the melting sensation of her spit devours my lust for her own, my penis jerking with involuntary spasms as I near my final and most powerful orgasm of the night.

A climax roars through me like a wildfire as she takes me to stud with her mouth, enjoying every viscous drop of my human flavor as it rolls down her throat, a satisfied grin lustily encirling my still shooting cock.

She has never tasted me before, I realize to my embarassed surprise. In fact, she has probably never tasted any human before tonight.

When she leaves my shaft with her muzzle all sticky and slick and sweet-smelling with a mixture of vaginal fluid from numerous animal species, she smirks, laying her cheekbone softly on my stomach, enjoying the noises of my ever-active innards as she has my slimy cock in her hand-playing with it.

"What an interesting flavor you have." She remarked, watching me finally collapse and fall asleep from exhaustion of all these different duties thrown at me all at once.

And they were kind enough to let me, knowing that my obligations had been discharged-just like my cock!

I barely remember afterwards, but I think that the pilots dragged their bunk mattresses in the middle of the floor, and they had me in the middle of all these connected beds, even as they fall asleep all around me, hugging my body and sharing their naked furred warmth and affection for the night.

For one romp, I slept for a few days. For an orgy, I wondered if I would be sleeping for a month or wake up in a hundred years like an erotic version of Rip Van Winkle.

Amazingly, I must have gotten used to this kind of tiring work out, as I managed to get up in a fairly short amount of time!

The following day, I had some type of fondness for the female RAF pilots, having gotten the chance to get to know them all so personally, and I likewise to them. It was certain the event had left me much exhausted, but given the opportunity to fuck each of them again, I would gladly walk on broken glass to do so.

The wolf, who recently told me his name was Roger, smiled wryly at my tired sated expression.

"Kiss the girls, much?" He teased.

I blushed, remembering that a kiss from Glori certainly started it, but it didn't end there.

"That's an understatement, Sir."

"I imagine. Considering if all they wanted was kisses and hugs, RAF HQ wouldn't be so restrictive." Roger declared, laughing.

I look at the plane; an odd thing. Most people were not aware that there were planes in world war one with only one pair of wings; it was usually the biplanes and triplanes that got all the fame.

But the Eindecker-this was a machine of peculiar objectivity.

The plane was thin, it had a canopy of thick metal cables on the top and bottom, holding the wings in place to stabilize them. The engine cowling was missing the bottom half, which was apparently normal for this craft.

The damage was sufficient; cables had been snapped, and one of the radial pistons of the engine had to be replace-with what, we didn't know, considering that even tires and sparkplugs were hard to get a hold of during this war.

Our luck changed when I got the idea to ask around various metal-workers' factories. The metal for guns and new planes had to come from somewhere; it wouldn't surprise me if they were recycling the German planes shot down in Britain.

It took a few weeks, but with about fifty British pounds, probably three times it's worth, we got the part we needed, and were relieved to have a source for future replacements in case-as long as Germany kept sending them over, that is.

The engine worked well, the cables welded back to the wings, the joystick replaced with a substitute by Roger, as the original had been eaten half-way through with a bullet.

The blood was another matter; we thought it best to let nature have at it for a few days, as long as we kept the Eindecker out of the rain.

I smiled in pride, next to Roger, our efforts were rewarded.

"It looks good, but how do I start it? I've never been able to fly."

"You're bloody joking, right? You said you had at least eight flight hours!" Roger exclaimed.

"I said I had eight hours in a flight simulating game, not that I stayed aloft the whole time! I crashed as many times as I took off; I only made one successful landing, which I owe to luck."

The wolf shakes his head in frustration, grunting.

"Bloody hell! You're telling me this NOW?!"

"Yeah, so?" I ask.

"You think I'm gonna let you fly if you don't know how?"

"Why do you think I'm asking you to teach me? You don't see furs lining up for your benevolent wisdom." I point out wryly.

"Good point, yank, but I don't want you to crash it after all the work we did."

"I won't crash it. You're overreacting, Roger."

A breeze whistles through the cables, making that same noise as the crashed plane I found when I first came to England, filling me with a chill that makes me pale.

That was the noise I heard when Lysanna was in trouble and we met each other.

Roger becomes concerned, looking at my expression.

"What? Yank, what is it?"

"Give me a crash course, or I really will crash. Lysanna-I feel like she's going to die-today."

"Shit."

We stand in silence for a moment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I need to go to her."

"Why don't you let ME do it? I can still fly, just not an RAF plane."

"Answer one question for me before you climb that cockpit. Do you love Lysanna so much that you'd be willing to give everything so that she can come home safely?"

"What-what does that mean?"

I already climb the wing, sitting in the seat, not bothering with a parachute, seizing the joystick in both hands. I look at him, my eyes set with determination and honor.

"You know what it means. Now tell me how to do this."

He nods, shocked almost senselessly by my sudden change of mood.

In one second, I turned from Jonas to a cold unfeeling drake.

"Y-yes. the controls are reversed; up for down and down for up. You want to move around alot to avoid being a target, don't jerk too hard on the stick, and if you climb, don't go straight up vertical for too long or you might stall and crash."

"And where are the guns centered?"

"Straight ahead at the height of your mouth."

"Eyes will be close enough, then. And short bursts."

"Yes, we only got six seconds of ammunition for the twin Spandou's, remember?"

"How could I forget? Now, pull the propeller for me, won't you? I'm going to show Jerry that my lover is off-limits."

He nods, stepping forward, ready to yank it down and step away.

"Hit the ignition key on three."

I nod, my thumb on the switch.

"One...Two..."

I tense, ready as I'll ever be.

"Are you sure? I'm still ready to go up."

"Pull the fucking propeller or I'll empty these Spandou's in YOU!" I snarl.

He coughs nervously.

"Three!"

I push the button, relieved at the sound of the buzzing engine and the firing of the spark cartridge. Roger gets out of the way, saluting me.

In the air, there is good reason to be nervous, the frame constantly teeters slightly, like a small boat in the ocean. The plane isn't completely stable; in fact, I have to constantly alter my course with each drifting motion. The wireless in the cockpit is getting louder with activity the closer to the squadron I get, so It's a safe bet that this could be a sort of radar for me.

Up ahead, I see two of the tan sopwith camels in mortal combat with four German Eindeckers, the rest of the RAF strangely missing.

It's a dogfight; everyone split up.

"...company to our six o clock. Looks like another bogey!..." Declared the voice of Glori.

I am slowly getting closer, able to make out the sapphire bluish tinge of her ivory horn, as she does a careful spin to avoid a torrent of bullets, two Eindeckers chasing her in her various movements. The other RAF pilot I can see has a black furred face; one of the male members of the squadron. I never got to know any of the males, so I couldn't say who it was.

"...wait-bloody hell! It's Jonas!..." Glori declared.

"...what?!..."

"...wha-..."

"...Bloody hell!..."

Several voices on the radio spout at once, as I cruise my craft in a hunting glide towards one of the foes on Glori's ass.

"The only one who should be on her ass is me, you Hun son of a bitch!" I scream, depressing the trigger with a quick burst.

The enemy monoplanes break off in confusion, not only because they got shot at by their own plane, but because there was a human in the cockpit!

"...good to see you Jonas!..." The unicorn declares.

I pick up the wireless.

"Like-wise, can anyone tell me where Lysanna is?"

"...Allie and Lysanna are having it out with the black baroness. Don't worry, they can handle her..."

"I don't think so. I got a bad feeling." I return, watching the skunk shoot holes in the tail of one of the confused Eindeckers, even as he tried to dodge his own shadows.

"...hang on..."

Glori's plane spun in a slow roll, the front going head to head with one of the planes at the skunks rear, black smoky funnels piercing the air in small formations, the engine cowling of the enemy plane afire, as Glori managed to skillfully twirl through the return fire of the dying plane.

I sigh in frustration, going for the other idle monoplane, firing maybe ten smoky bullets towards the craft, one sparking hotly against the tail, but my attack doing nothing.

Glori swooped low in a dive, aiming the guns at the Eindecker I had tried to shoot down, emptying a quick burst into the engine of the plane, setting it on fire as the pilot bailed.

"...that's how it's done, love. Now, you were saying?..."

"Lysanna's gonna die!" I blurted out in desperation.

The other radio is silent.

Lysanna watches the black triplane warily. Fokker triplanes weren't the fastest, but they could move like demons. The triplane went for Allie without hesitation weaving side to side in dodgy arcs as Lysanna chased behind, twin Spandou guns practically on fire, streams of bullets dancing with sparks on the very frame of Allie's plane.

"...Shit! Get the bitch off of me!..." Allie screams, bullets eating away at her plane in smoking columns of incendiary billows, divots popping slowly up toward her engine, which would be almost fatal for her and her plane.

"...I got you sis!..." Lysanna growls, shooting her own burst from the Vickers at the attacking plane.

The triplane spins away hastily in a skillful move to the left, but manages to hit Allie's engine anyway and set it afire. Lysanna watches in horror as the alligator femme jumps out, her parachute deploying a moment later even as her abandoned plane crashes down, wracked by many rolling explosions.

Lysanna was alone with the greatest German ace ever known.

"...I just got a report that Allie bailed. Lysanna's alone over there..." Glori declared.

"Give me her position."

"...Two miles at your ten o clock. I'm gonna be your wing-mate. Any RAF pilot who sees a lone Eindecker isn't gonna ask questions..."

"Welcome to have the escort. Let's go get that bitch, then."

Lysanna circled in a wide arc with the triplane, giving every indication she was an ace wanting to finish this fight, but in truth, she was trying to buy time for rescue, as her opponent was definitely out of her league.

Alone, she would be dead soon enough-or disabled.

Lysanna frowned, why did death occur to her first before being shot down? She never got injured doing this aside from bruises and a broken clavicle.

The pantheress hunting her was a fierce predator, eyes of screaming death like an eagles'.

Cold eyes that seemed to laugh and dare her to make a mistake.

Below, the fields looked cheerful and inviting like puzzle pieces, but actually falling to earth didn't bode well with Lysanna.

I saw her, circling with the black triple-winged Fokker, breaking away from Glori to take a piece out of the enemy plane.

For one second, both of mine and Lysanna's expressions locked together in deep affection-before I went after the enemy plane, taking the baroness head on, shooting bullets through her engine and body as she stared in surprise at the one thing her experience as an ace couldn't prepare her for;

A flying human.

I level out of her path, the plane dipping down and falling, buzzing nose first to the ground, as Lysanna, Glori, and now Greta form a vanguard about me, expressions of admiration on their faces as the sunset to our left bathes the planes in bright golden orange light; like a forge.

Perhaps, in his own way, Roger had beaten me into shape to perform this role right now.

"Roger Wilco." I mumble, reciting the wolf's name almost in praise, gazing mesmerized at the lovely sight of the setting sun and the tangerine colored clouds.

This was a sunset not for Lysanna, but the black baroness-who I filled with so many bullets, that she would probably be heavy enough to be an anchor for a ship.

"...Wot kind of code is that?..." Lysanna mused, lifting up her goggles to look back over to me.

"Roger Wilco, he taught me how to fly-sorta."

"...Sounds like something a gent would say when he received his orders and is going to fulfill them..." Greta pointed out.

"Sure, why not?" I muse, just happy with staring at the soft bronzed face of my lover in the slow setting of the golden rays.

Suddenly, a low buzzing comes from below-a sputtering engine, feral snarling of an angry animal soon follows.

"The hell?"

Before bullets shred through Greta's, then Glori's planes fast as a serpent lunging out of a burrow made in hell, popping geysers of smoke and paint chips out the other side, both craft smoking-almost dead with lethal agony.

I watch in horror as the two femme aces bail on me and Lysanna; as both planes explode in mid-air one after another as the gasoline tanks catch afire.

Below, we see the black baroness is still ready to fight, despite that her engine is belching smoke and flame from three places, and her body is all shiny and wet with drenching torrents of blood.

The yellow eyes scare me the most.

"You must of done something to REALLY piss her off!" I scream, shocked senseless by the ace's resurgence.

"...Me, yank? Why, you're the bloody bastard who shot her down!..."

"Well, she didn't stay down long, did she?"

The black triplane flies suddenly up vertically between us, slowly diving down for...Lysanna...long streams of black smoking Spandou lead spear through air and aircraft frame, as Lysanna tries to dodge left and right in uneven loping glides, the undead ace on her tail like a knotted trampy dog.

"...Next time we drop a house on the bitch!..." Lysanna screams out into the radio.

A house. Or something a little more maneuverable.

"Keep her level and straight; I have a plan." I order.

"...You gonna put more bullets up her ass?.."

"Better, just don't get too close."

"...What?..."

I line up my guns with the triplane, but it does not matter how accurate I am-the guns are empty.

My thoughts go back to my conversation with Roger;

Do you love Lysanna so much that you'd be willing to give everything so that she can come home safely?

My plane is level with the Fokkers' set of wings on the left side. Just one sideways turn-one push of the throttle-and all her agility wouldn't count for shit.

I am crying, but for my lover, it is all worth it.

"Lysanna..."

"...Yes, love?..." Comes the slow questing voice of the lovely mare.

"Goodbye."

My life for hers...

A fair trade.

I shove hard on the throttle, my last thought before my engine smashes through three sets of wings is: Roger is going to be so pissed at me-

A split second before the jolt-the ripping, I watch Lysanna. Her beautiful tearing eyes.

"Goodbye."

My engine catches fire as the pantheress howls in anger, her plane spinning out of control as half of her wings fall off.

The wicked bitch wouldn't come back from that, I was damn sure.

I manage enough of an effort with my heavy joystick to level the plane, to correct the rudder; to watch my sunset, but the engine is dead, just as I will be.

I wish I had known Lysanna more intimately-more tenderly-but in the end, it doesn't even matter.

The force of my falling plane makes me start to black out.

Before the darkness takes me, I whisper once again,

"Goodbye." Slumping unconsciously forward in my lonely sinking cockpit.

Flying had been everything I wished for, but now, I'd trade it for the chance to be with Lysanna again-to 'fly' under her for eternity.

To let both our hearts glide together.

Eulogy of a dear friend; The rewards of heroism revealed: Part three

"We never knew him very long, but in the time he flew with us, I was never prouder to have such an ally at my back. His sacrifice will never be forgotten, and neither will the things he taught us. I think Glori wanted to say some things in his honor-Glori?"

Glori proceeds to stand by Basil, her own sadness apparent for all to see.

"Y-Yes. They said he couldn't fly...because of his condition...B-But he showed them all they were wrong, when Lysanna and Allie struggled to shoot down the black baroness and barely succeeded."

The pine casket before them was closed, the pilot within being too mangled from his crash to be recognized.

"And it hurts alot to know he had to die to prove it...I don't think anyone has anything to say-it just hurts too much right now." Glori declared.

Basil nods, motioning for the soldiers with their Enfield rifles to begin the honorary salute.

"Present arms!"

Rifles are aimed at the sky in unison.

"And fire!"

One volley of shots is fired, the soldiers cocking the bolts of their rifles.

"And fire!"

Another volley, more cocking, rifles aimed back up.

"And fire!"

The last volley, the last bolt cocking, soldiers prepare for their next orders.

"About face! And march!"

In unison, the British Tommy soldiers step high in their boots, going back to barracks to dress out of their parade attire.

Basil faces Glori.

"How's Lysanna doing in the hospital?"

"Good. She seems least affected by this death than the rest of us, strangely enough." Glori responded.

"Splendid! Let's go over and pay them a visit!"

Glori nods, leading the way.

They come to one room in particular, where Lysanna, dressed in a nurse's V.A.D. uniform, is seated on one bed, fawning sweetly over one unfortunate chap in a full body cast.

"How's he doing, Lysanna?"

"Fine, considering he managed to survive without a parachute." She returned, amused.

The patients' eyes blink, focusing on Basil and Glori as they just enter the room.

"Poor luck, old chap. It turns out that not only is the credit for the kill going to the pilot we just buried, but the RAF board has elected not to give you any award for your bravery." Basil grumbles.

"But just between you and me, any man who saves one of my girls deserves this more than I." Then Basil rips off his Victoria Cross, putting it on the patients' bandaged chest.

"All I did to earn that was save a truck filled with soldiers' letters from a bombing raid!" He chuckles out, saluting, and leaving the room.

"When can he get out of that damn thing?" Glori enquired.

"You're right-the constant silent treatment bores me. I can't wait to play with him again-and have an intelligent conversation that doesn't involve mumbles or stomach growls." Lysanna teased, looking into the loving affectionate eyes-

Of Jonas.

Leading 'Man': Conclusion

The shire and palomino laugh heartily at the conclusion of my adventure; I had the most wonderful nurse of Britain looking after me, all said and done.

"Jolly good! Such a fine yarn. I've not heard a war epic the likes of that in years!" The palomino declares.

The shire grins in amusement.

"So, that's what a HUMAN has to do to be invited to a horses' party? The whole, 'crash my plane into the black baroness's' bit seems a little um-over the top?" The shire mused.

"For Lysanna I would risk my life whenever I had to. She's that important to me." I declare.

A hush falls over the crowd; the conversation.

I watch as that beautiful blonde shire slowly descends the red-carpeted staircase, her body accentuated by a rather volumous light sapphire blue dress, a fine sapphire brooch in that nice equine cleavage.

"That, gentlefurs, is why I almost killed myself. Good day to you both, as I am certain I will be invited to join her for the first dance of the night."

The stallions nod, as I leave their company.

Horses make way for me as I go to her; my love, my desire.

Juliet.

We stare at one another for a moment. Suddenly, all of the guests gasp in shock as the mare offers her hand-and first dance-not to a courteous stallion in his best finery, but instead a human wearing the uniform of an RAF officer-with honors.

Those brass sons-of-bitches couldn't give me a medal or credit for killing the black baroness, but they sure rushed to put my own promotion through (nothing like being able to outrank all your 'services')

I accept her hand, smiling.

"Are you ready?" I whisper.

"Ready for wot, lovey?"

I wrap my other hand around her waist.

"Tonight, things will change-no more segregation-no more classes."

"No, they won't change. What we have is special; It will take another war to accomplish that." Lysanna pointed out.

"Be careful what you wish for, lover. You forget that I have a rough idea of the future." I declare.

She sighs gracefully, giving a delicate faint.

"Oh, love, speak no more of war. I want to enjoy peace, now."

The equines laugh nervously in response to her jest.

"War and peace, Lys, an endless waltz of men's making. But I digress, let us have OUR endless waltz; a dance that we can take in our hearts forever."

And so, the pairing was awkward at first, but soon the various equine patrons acclimated to it gradually.

And when we danced, I was always dreaming that me in my Eindecker so long ago, and her in her sopwith, would fly through the clouds and play tag with one another like we would were we children longer past.

"I envy this flying; it requires no concentration, just the guidance of the heart." I muse.

"Dancing is a thing for which all the equine-folk are known and renowned for. I am much surprised you have as much a talent for it as I."

"Are you? Sometimes, dancing is all a matter of instinct."

"True, but tell me this, Major."

I was startled that she used my official title, but perhaps that was for the benefit of her own species-to tell them that a human of such a high rank was well worth courting.

"What, Lys?"

"Does knowing how to dance well help you land a plane any better?" She teased, speaking of my near-fatal suicide attack.

"The only flying I need is the rise to the heavens we take when we are united-and alone together."

She giggles, blushing in embarrassment at the obvious subtle, yet sexual statement.

"Yet you hesitate right there? Is there more you would ask?"

I take her fiercely in the next overture.

"Yes, just this once, I wish to be your leading man. You've always made the decisions in my life, I wish to be the leader this time."

"As you wish. I forgot you had such spirit."

I spun her, grinning, her tail flying out nicely like a banner in a breeze.

"Spirit; so relative. What motivates me is passion. Do you remember, mare love, what I first said to you during that lovely morning we met?"

She squeals in surprise, trying to keep up with my sudden motions, joy alight in her eyes.

"Why, no. Please do remind me, dear." She teased.

"Six years, I once said, 'you're the flame that burns me', and I meant it sincerely, for you keep my heart ablaze."

The music slows, as do we, now facing the greater portion of the audience-towards that charming shire and his palomino associate.

"Hush, love, It's time you are introduced...to my father." She whispered.

I look yonder, confused.

"Where? I do not see him!"

"Why, he's looking at you now, coming close."

I am startled to see the shire in his blue tux come towards us.

"Surprised, my little friend? I don't doubt it." He mused.

"Jonas, this is my father, and that palomino is his accountant." Lysanna offers.

Shit, I never thought I'd tell my life's story to her dad without realizing it!

"She's right; you might be human, but you don't act in the way other humans do. Most others of your species are busy with politics or economics. You went to war, just as I'd expect any stallion of nobility to do, and not only did you fight bravely and fight fiercely, but you nearly died in the name of chivalry and valour." The shire declares.

"For her, I would die many deaths, were it possible, for the preservation of that beauty." Say I, looking into that lovely sparkling face.

"And...you dance like I would expect my future son to do. But not a charismatic equine military officer...a..." The shire struggles for the right words.

"Leading man." Lysanna prompted wistfully, gazing into my eyes, taking me in light embrace.

The shire smiles, the guests of the ball unmask, clapping their hands in approval and congratulations.

Inspiration of Lysanna courteously hyperlinked with permission from the artist. Thistledown is copyright to their player; image graciously imitated in this work out of love and respect for the subject.

http://us-p.vclart.net/vcl/Artists/Megan-Giles/thistle.JPG

Thank you again!

(sidenote on the creation of Leading Man: It took many months for me to write this work. It began during the Christmas season as a dream I had one night which I earnestly tried to mimic in writing this story. Another thing is that this story, and indeed the very dream which inspired it in the first place was most likely influenced by having seen the movie "Flyboys", which I found very entertaining and engaging. I've had numerous people look over this story for me to tell me what they thought, and in fact, Krazystallion has been looking forward to it's completion. The hardest part was trying to make the dogfights engaging for the reader despite being on paper in only words. The other annoying part of this work was trying to find that particular passion for each different species I wrote about, without which, the descriptions would be dull and without life. Lysanna was easy, as I had always loved such a mare like her, but for others like Greta and Allie, it was a waiting game to see if I had the time and lust for one of the more difficult species to find affection and desire for.)

There will always be room in my heart for one, and she is mare.

Thank you all courteously for reading, and I hope to hear what you have to say about this project which always burned deep within me until it could be so eloquently expressed. ^^

BigFluffy