FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"I'm not gonna be able to make it tonight." My slender thumbs were numb against the glass keypad of my cell phone. The weight of it made me weary; it felt distant in my paws. I shook my head and stared at my ghost in the bathroom mirror. I couldn't read the expression on its face. My cell phone chimed. "wth kid, we've been planning on this for a whole week >:(" "Sorry, something huge came up. Rain check for tomorrow?" I hated letting people down. I could see that reflected on the chipmunk in the medicine cabinet. I let out a heavy sigh and watched it mimic me. I needed to pluck these stray whiskers, do something with my unkempt fur. Was there anything suspect about how short I kept my teeth? "no good, kid. this is my only night off. what's so important you gotta cut into our plans, anyway?" "My father is in town for the night on business, and he wants to meet me for the first time in my life." The words bore down on me as I typed them. He wanted to see me after fifteen years. Why? And what would he think when he finally saw me? I lifted my glasses and tugged at imagined bags under my eyes, scowling at the lackluster state of my fur in the bathroom light. I had to do something about my fur. "wow. don't worry about it, then. i'll take a rain check just this once ;)" I sent back an apologetic smile and tried to focus on happier things. I had another engagement before the meeting. Maybe I'd feel better after talking to Axle at the diner. I grinned absently before realizing that I was brushing my head fur with the comb I used for my tail. Bruxing in frustration, I dropped the brush into the sink and smoothed out my bedhead with my little paws. My slumped reflection frowned at me. I really needed to do something about my fur. Shampoo, maybe, a shower. And clean clothes. The thought calmed me, so I unlatched my belt and let my oversized khakis fall to my ankles. A shower, then Axle, I reassured the naked fuzzball in the mirror. Then, my father.

"The usual, of course, and a bowl of nuts for the pup." Axle leaned back with a creak of his leather jacket, forming support for his head with his arms, and grinned his predator grin at me. "Of course, of course. We got yours cookin' up soon as you walked in." The middle-aged opossum pointed the cigarette hanging from her lip at me, glancing askance to confirm my order. I focused on my nose and avoided their stares. "And a hot tea with creamer." "Alright, dears," she grunted through decades of tobacco. "Be out in just a second." Axle seemed amused by my flustered cheeks. He brushed a bare hindclaw against my shin under the table. "So, why'd you call me here, munk?" "Well," I started slowly, "I guess I just wanted to ask you for some advice." The thylacine laughed. "Ha! I'm the last guy to give you good advice. You must be desperate." "Kinda. I don't really have anyone to turn to for this stuff." "Here you are, boys!" The opossum let the plastic dishes clatter loudly on the table as she tossed them in front of us. "Eat up, tip well." Without missing a beat, the thylacine took up a triangle of his patty melt, sat one hindpaw on his knee, and lounged against the window like a Greek god in the diner booth. "OK, so what indispensable advice can I bestow upon you, young munk?" I couldn't help but smile at him, even as I gulped at what I had to say. "OK, well... my father called me today out of nowhere. Apparently, my mother gave him my number. Anyway, he wants to meet me tonight for the first time." I paused, looking down into my cup as the hot water stained brown. "Go on," Axle said through a mouthful of cheese and meat. I grasped my cup for support. "I'm nervous. I'm confused. I haven't seen the guy in the fifteen years I've been alive, and now he wants to see me. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I want to do." ` "A-ha!" I almost knocked over my tea as the thylacine bolted upright. "So that's why you came to me for advice!" "Well, yeah," I said, furrowing my brow. "That's what I said, isn't it?" "You," he began, pointing an accusing patty melt across the table at me, "You wanna fuck your dad!" "What the hell? I didn't say that!" I hissed, clicking my teeth. Did he really have to yell that out loud? "Oh, yeah, that's exactly it," he said, his rounded ears peeling back behind his goggles as a devil's grin curled out over his long, slender muzzle. "I know you. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it." "Well, I mean..." I bought myself some time by pulling out my tea bag and pouring in cream and sugar. "Sure, I've thought about that sort of thing, but that's just fantasy. I mean, for one thing, I have a DAD in those fantasies. I don't even know this guy. He's a complete stranger." "That's never stopped you before." That bastard marsupial was relishing in my embarrassment. "B-but... This is different." I stammered. "It's personal. What if I don't like him?" "Clunk, my pet, you've had sex with random passengers on the MATA bus. You've fucked stray dogs in the park. You got marked by that kangaroo at work, and he had a wife and kids. I don't think adding your pops to the list is gonna be a big deal." I focused on stirring my tea and tried to hide under my ears. "Look me in the eye and tell me that's not what you want." This was a trap. Have you ever tried to look a predator in the eye? Let alone a Tasmanian tiger with the smell of meat on his breath. "You know I can't," I admitted finally, glancing at the opossum at the grill, who quickly turned around and busied herself with hash browns. I noticed her little ear cocked outward toward our table as her serpent tail grabbed a spatula from under the counter. "Fine, then!" Axle celebrated his victory by lavishly finishing off the rest of his sandwich. "Well, I'm glad you're satisfied," I said, sipping my tea, "but this is just a one-sided fantasy. Chances are, my father doesn't have the same thing in mind." "Ha, he might, if he's anything like you," the thylacine chortled. "But leave that part to me. Where are you meeting, and what time?" Clearly, Axle had made up his mind, but that hardly put me at ease. He had a knack for getting me into uncomfortable situations. That's probably why I liked him. "Alright, then," I smiled, pushing the pins and needles under my fur into my cheeks. "He's treating me to Frank Grisanti at 7:30. It's a little Italian place at the hotel he's staying in." "Oh, fancy dining. I'll be sure to dress for the occasion," Axle said, sucking the grease from his claws. I'd never seen him in anything but that leather coat and those old flight goggles he always had strapped to his head. "So you're gonna be there?" "In the background. Don't worry, Clunkymunk. Your pops won't notice a thing." "I can't believe you're doing this to me," I murmured over my teacup. "You'll be kissing my toes by morning," he smirked. "Now, eat your nuts, rodent. They're good for your teeth."

---

I live my life standing on the edge of a precipice. Every situation, every interaction is a leap of faith into a bottomless abyss. I've found the best way to do anything is to jump right in. You step blindly through all your misgivings, all your what-ifs, and before you can protest, you plunge forth into uncertainty. It's quite a rush.

---

He stood outside on the wet sidewalk with his paws stuffed into his tweed coat, teeter-tottering back and forth in his patent leather shoes. I watched him from the opposite curb, saw him pull back his sleeve and glance at the time, rub his chubby cheeks, and shake out his wrists before returning his paws back to his pockets. Between heartbeats, I adjusted my loose tie and stepped out into the oily street. A car whizzed between us, and we locked eyes and knew each other. I had jumped over the edge. There was no turning back, nothing to be done but to trip blindly forward. He smiled. "Clunk!" He greeted me with an out-stretched paw as I approached. I took it as I stepped up to the curb, and he shook me firmly. It didn't seem like I would be getting much taller in the future, nor that I'd be losing my cherubic figure. "Nice to finally meet you. James, right?" "Jim. No one calls me James," he said, holding me back at arms length with a heavy paw. "Wow. My spit and image. You're a lot taller than I thought you'd be." I shrugged. He wasn't anything like I'd expected, either. I guess I'd pictured him more like my brother, athletic, darker fur, a little bit stoic. Or worse, like my mom. But he seemed down-right pleasant so far. And yes, he was clearly my father, from the russet shade of his fur to the stripes that shaped his eyes. Time had been kind to his features, but his smile lines were beginning to wear into his cheeks, and the flecks of gray in his coat gave away his age. "Well, let's go on in, I guess," he ventured, breaking the silence I'd unwittingly created. Jim took the lead with a distinct limp, and I followed slowly behind. He wore a smokey cologne that complimented his woody musk, leaving a trail of hickory scent in his wake. The green neon lights and lacquered, paned glass doors welcomed us into a low-lit ambience of oregano and accordion. The host, a well-fed beaver, bowed as we entered, flattening his tail along the polished floor. "Good evening, gentlemen." He was not an Italian. "A table for two?" "Yessir. I've actually got reservations for 7:30. Russell?" "Ah, the Russells," the beaver said, eyeing me. "Yes, we've prepared the best table in the restaurant. Right this way." My father raised his brows and gave me a glance over his shoulder. "Well, how about that?" Indeed. I wondered what sort of strings my thylacine matchmaker had pulled. I wasn't sure candlelight and violins would get any more than a laugh out of the middle-aged chipmunk, but Axle's techniques were usually more... devious. We followed the beaver through the restaurant and up a small set of stairs to a booth secluded from most of the restaurant's patrons. The fountain through the adjacent window sparkled in emerald green against the dark shadows of the hotel garden. "Well, now, this IS rather nice," my father commented as the beaver ushered him into the farther booth, leaving the nearest for me. Over my father's shoulder, I saw Axle a few tables down in front of a ridiculous cut of veal porterhouse and a carnivore's portion of crab manicotti. He raised a wine glass to me with a grin before taking a generous gulp. He was still wearing those goggles. "Sergio will be your server this evening," the beaver said, placing our menus and silverware between us. "He'll be out in a moment for your drink orders." "Sounds good," my father said, opening his menu. "Alright, Clunk, get what you want. I've got the check tonight." "Thanks," I nodded, turning to the front page. I hadn't eaten all day, and all that oregano in the air was making me hungry. I normally skipped over appetizers, but something caught my eye about them, and my stomach shriveled up into the size of an acorn. "What's wrong?" Jim said, peering over his menu. "This is too much." "What do you mean?" "These prices. Twelve dollars just for an appetizer? I can't put you out like this." "Oh, is that all?" The old chipmunk relaxed his shoulders. "Don't worry about that. It's all budgeted out, kiddo. Get whatever you want." "Good evening, gentlemen!" Sergio had appeared out of nowhere, a slender otter who couldn't have been too much more than my age. "Can I start you off with a drink?" "Water," I blurted out. "Just... water is fine." My father chuckled. "I think a nice chianti is in order tonight." "We have a fantastic Chianti Classico, a medium-bodied wine with firm tannins," Sergio explained, as if he'd tasted it before. "Sounds good!" "Alright, gentlemen, two waters and a chianti. I'll be right back." Sergio the otter disappeared down the rows of empty booths toward the kitchen, and as I watched him go, I noticed Axle begin searching his jacket pockets for something. "Well, kiddo..." I looked back at my father, who was watching me through his round spectacles, his short muzzle propped up on the back of his nimble paws. "I'm not sure how this works. I'm a bit nervous, I have to confess, but I'm really glad you decided to come tonight." "Yeah," I said through a sheepish grin. "I was kind of nervous, too. I was afraid you might be a bit like mum, so I'm a little relieved." He laughed. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment. You know, I was wondering, why does she call you Clunk? Is that some kind of nickname?" "No, that's my real name. Mum used to tell me it was the sound my head made when I fell off the changing table in the hospital after I was born." "You're kidding," Jim frowned. "What a bitch." It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, well, I don't have to deal with her anymore, so it's OK." "You don't?" he asked. "How come?" "Didn't she tell you? I'm emancipated. She made me move out in April after my fifteenth birthday." "Holy cow!" my father said with exaggerated recoil. "I can't believe she'd do something like that." "How long did you know her, exactly?" "Alright," he confessed, "I can believe she'd do that, but I... I guess I just didn't see it coming." "Your drinks, gentlemen, and some bread and olive oil to start your evening." Sergio laid down cork coasters for the water and bread before serving us. "Are we ready to order?" I didn't hear what my father ordered. I was too busy watching Axle fiddling with a couple of tiny glass bottles and a spoon. "And you, sir?" I looked up to find two pairs of eyes waiting. "Oh, um," I stalled, flipping through the menu. "Um, surprise me." "I'm sorry?" The New York came out of Sergio's practiced Italian brogue. "I mean... your favorite. Bring me your favorite dish, so long as it's not too expensive." The otter frowned for a moment, then scribbled something onto his notepad before taking our menus. "Absolutely, sir." And then he was gone. "Wow, that's pretty ballsy, son," my father said, jostling my paw with his. "What if he comes out here with bull testicles and chicken livers?" "Well," I said, reaching for a hefty chunk of the bread loaf to drown in oil, "I guess that'll be OK. When I'm nervous, I like to try new things. That way, I can focus my nerves on something else." "Say, that's pretty smart," the old chipmunk admired. "When I get nervous, I just talk a lot. I'll probably do a lot of talking tonight." I grinned and stuffed my cheeks with bread. I was already starting to like this old guy in spite of myself. "So, you live alone?" He confirmed, and I nodded. "How do you support yourself? No way Laurie's paying for it." "Mum? No, I've had a job since I was twelve. I used to help pay the bills." "Is that legal?" "Probably not." But then, nothing I did was technically legal. "Who would hire you at such a young age?" "No one officially, but there's a small development company in town that makes cellphone apps. I'm a codemunky, backends and such. It's the only reason I even have the kind of phone I have." "Wow, that's genuinely impressive." "It's not really. It's kind of zen, although working with Objective-C is a pain in the ass sometimes." "I can't pretend to know what that means, but it sounds important," the old munk said, sipping his wine deeply. "Well, what do you do for fun?" "Not a lot," I lied. "I read, mostly." "What sort of reading?" "Oh, um, mostly old sci-fi. Asimov, Heinlein..." "No kidding? That's classic stuff! You've got good taste, kiddo." "Apparently, so do you," I said. "Well, what else? You don't have any friends to hang out with?" "Well..." I took a hasty sip of water. I didn't dare tell him of the sort of company I kept. "I'm not really good with social situations. It's kind of hard for me." "No kidding," he said again. "I know exactly what you mean." "You do?" I perked my ears and leaned forward a bit too eagerly. "I guess it runs in the family. I was always a pretty awkward kid. I didn't really bloom until I was about your age, and even then, it was just an act." "What sort of act?" Maybe we had more in common than I thought. "Oh, I used to pretend to be a total badass, leather jacket, greased fur, the works. I thought maybe acting tough would get me through tough situations, and it worked pretty well for a while. I even started riding motorcycles, and let me tell you, doe really go for the motorcycles. S'how I met your mother, actually. Your mom's a bad boy type." "Trust me, I know." "How about you? You got any secret techniques?" I nodded, trying not to flush. "A couple." "Well, go on." "I can't. I mean," I fumbled, my mind full of unspeakable sexual escapades, a good number of which a certain thylacine had put me through. "I can't put them into words. Just mental tricks, I guess. Watching for patterns and stuff like that." "Oh, yeah?" "So, what happened?" I changed the subject. "You don't give off the bad boy vibe." "Oh, well, I got old," he laughed. "That, and a few months after... well, after I left your mom, I got into a motorcycle accident and messed up my leg pretty bad. So now I'm just regular, old, boring Jim Russell. The limp comes in handy selling motorcycle insurance, though." "Well, for what it's worth, Mr. Jim Russell, I don't think your terribly boring." "No need for flattery, kiddo," he said with a wink. "I've accepted the truth, and I can live with it." The conversation remained pleasant. We talked over baskets full of freshly baked bread about the difference between Asimov's sci-fi and his ordinary fiction, and how the Australian gecko on TV was in real life, and I tried to explain the difference between Objective-C and Java to a chipmunk who wasn't sure what a browser was. Sergio visited us several times to check up on us, and I noticed when he brought a slice tiramisu out to my friend - sans cocoa, of course, because thylacines can't eat cocoa - Axle stopped him and pulled him down by the collar. There was an exchange of words, with the young otter looking over toward me and nodding. Axle patted the boy on the shoulder, closed something small into his fist, and tucked a folded dollar bill into his dress shirt pocket. I wondered how the marsupial was able to afford such lavish dishes and tawdry bribes. I'd never known him to hold down any sort of 9 to 5; it just wasn't his style. Dinner was extravagant. Sergio sat a plate of penne pomodoro in front of my father, who admired the flavorful aroma of garlic and tomato that came off the dish in waves. The otter smiled at me as he sat my plate down. "And my personal favorite, Maine lobster ravioli, served in a garlic butter sauce with mushrooms. I hope chipmunks like lobster as much as otters do." "Looks incredible, actually," I said, readying my silverware. "Excellent. I'll be right back with some more water." I barely noticed the otter had left, too busy shoveling ravioli into my mouth. For a few minutes, the only words between us were compliments to the chef through mouthfuls of food and moans of enjoyment between every forkful. "Whew," I heard my father say, taking a drink of his water. "What is it?" I said, suddenly aware that my cheeks were puffed out with food as I spoke. "Oh, nothing. I think I'm starting to feel this wine. So, I've caught up with you," he said, stabbing his penne. "Is there anything you want to know from your old man?" There was, something I was afraid to ask. "Well," I began, swallowing the contents of my cheeks, "I was just wondering, Jim... Why mom?" "Hmm? Why'd I choose her?" I nodded, and he pondered over his fork before taking a decisive chomp of tomato and spinach. "Honestly, I was kind of roped into it. We met, we fooled around, and she got pregnant. Suddenly, I was a dad at just 17. I guess I learned a little too late about playing it safe." I barely heard the moral. "So, you stayed with her because she was pregnant?" He took another long drag of his water. "Whew, yes. That's about the size of it. Over time, I realized I couldn't stand Laurie, but I guess I stayed out of a sense of responsibility." "Responsibility?" "Yes," he confirmed, panting and loosening his tie. I looked down at my half-empty plate. "Why didn't you stay for me?" "Jesus," he cursed, trying to get out of his tweed sports coat. "Is it hot in here to you?" "A little I guess," I said, shrinking. "I'm sorry, son, give me just a minute," he said, standing. "I'll be right back." I felt the heat in his paw as he squeezed my shoulder on his way by. All night, the question had lingered in the back of my mind, and he just completely dismissed it. Maybe I didn't want an answer. Maybe I already knew it. I was just beginning to think this whole thing had been a bad idea when I caught the smoke of his musk, and at that moment, I felt the heat of it rush into my head, through my chest, and into my loins. Every neurotic nerve was on fire, burning, burning, burning. On instinct, I reached for my water and drained the glass. In an instant, my head was reeling, the sound of hot blood pounding in my ears. Every breath was filled with the scent of castoreum and mustelid oil, but nothing was as potent as my father's pheromone-soaked cologne. I huffed and looked down the rows of booths, but the thylacine was long gone. They must have put it in the water! The bastard didn't say he was gonna drug me, too! The limping tempo of my father's footsteps brought the world back to me in sickening clarity. Again, he squeezed my shoulder before sitting down and rubbing his cheeks under his water-soaked fur. "Whew, sorry about that. Just needed to cool down a bit." "It's OK. It really is a bit hot." "You think so, too?" Jim locked eyes with me by mistake, and I caught him in a blush. "Maybe we should go outside and get some fresh air. Clear our heads." "That's probably a good idea," I said. "I don't think I can finish the rest of this, anyway. Filled up on bread and olive oil." "Sergio!" My father stopped the server as he walked past. "To-go boxes, and the check please." The otter seemed confused by the two chipmunk noses that twitched at him, but I saw the light of epiphany in his eye as he grinned and nodded. "Right away, gentlemen." We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment, looking at one another. I could read the confusion in the old chipmunk's eyes as he searched mine. "Uh, so, um," Jim began, tapping his fingers on the wooden table. "You know, I actually really like to cook. Maybe next time I see you, I can whip you up something really nice in your apartment. Your apartment has a kitchen, right?" I laughed and nodded. "Good. An apartment without a kitchen is pretty useless. That's really why I hate this hotel. No kitchen room. Maybe I should have upgraded to a suite. I just figured if I'm alone, I don't really need the room, but-" "You're nervous, aren't you?" I interrupted, reaching across the table to cover his jittery paw with my own. He flinched, and I watched each individual strand of fur on his cheek bristle. "Here you are, sir." Either I was incredibly unobservant, or Sergio was a ninja in training. "Thank goodness!" my father laughed, busying his paws by fumbling cash out of his wallet while I scooped our food into styrofoam boxes. "Fwew, here you go, kid. Keep the change, and have a good night." Sergio counted the money. "A-are you sure?" "Please," said Jim, standing, slinging his coat over his shoulder, and wiggling feeling back into his stubby tail. "Wow, thank you, sir! I hope you two have a wonderful evening!" I followed my father out the way we came in, patient of his gentle limp, bathing in the scent he left behind him. Every step echoed in my bones, each resounding thump filling my body with aching lust. I needed to be naked. I needed to pounce my father and roll him over and ride him right there on the cold restaurant tile. I needed him to throw me over a table and fuck me like a wild dog. I tried to distract myself by studying the other couples and families dining as we walked out, but I just kept imagining them watching us, which of them would be aroused enough to rip off their clothes and join us, who would pull out their camera phones and film the whole thing, who would upload it to the internet so the whole world could watch my dad tear me apart in open public. I shifted my khakis and pulled down my untucked dress shirt, trying to hide what I was certain the entire restaurant could smell on me. As we finally passed through the pane-glass door, I caught the beaver host's eye, and he gave me a wink. The air was thick and cold with wet. "Looks like it might rain soon," Jim observed, turning to face me on the sidewalk. "Looks like it," I agreed, looking up at the gathering clouds in the night sky. We stood close, and when I looked back down, our muzzles were only inches away. I thought he might grab my loose tie and pull me onto his lips, but instead he blushed and looked down at the green light reflecting in his shiny shoes, rocking on his hind paws like he had when I first saw him. "I, uh... I guess I should head up to bed. Early flight. It was good to finally meet you, though." I smiled. The only thing that stopped me from tackling him was his restraint. He was resisting Axle's spell with all his might, and oddly enough, it made me like him all the more. My father was a better munk than I. "Hopefully, I'll see you again soon." "I..." He paused to look up at me, smile, and return his gaze to his paws. "I'd like that." "I'll talk to you soon, Jim." He flinched as I opened my arms for a hug. After a moment, he drew me in with a firm pat on the back, but he didn't let me linger for long. "Alright, now, kiddo. You got a ride home, right?" He was already starting to walk around the corner toward the hotel lobby. "I'll manage," I said, waving. "What do you mean?" He stopped. "There's a bus stop out on Poplar that goes right down to the university area. I'll catch the last one home." "A-are you sure?" I nodded. "OK, Clunk, stay safe." His body fell into a slouch, ears drawn out low as he slipped out of sight around the corner. "Ah, well," I sighed to myself, walking in the opposite direction toward the main road. My father had willpower fit for a priest; not even thylacine intervention could break through it. I couldn't say I wasn't a little disappointed, but something about that made me proud to have him as my dad. Even so, my blood was surging, and my balls begged for release, hanging like lead weights in my khakis. I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't do something about all this sexual frustration Axle had unleashed upon my body. I considered calling my previous date for the night, but before I could slide open my lock screen, I heard two quick honks. "Hey, kiddo," Jim yelled through the window of a slick, black BMW. "I can't let you walk all the way to the bus stop when it's about to rain. Lemme give you a ride home." I wagged my eager tail and bounced across the empty side street into the passenger's seat of the car. The window slid up with a mechanical hum, locking in the smell of leather and chipmunk, and my father braced himself in his seat with deep, measured breaths, looking straight ahead. "Alright, Clunk, where to?" To distract himself, Dad sang along to instrumental jazz tunes, imitating his favorite instrument lines and telling me all about the musicians. Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk. Random snatches of trivia. He talked and sang the entire way to my apartment, and I basked in his nervous charm. By the time we arrived, the rain was steadily beating down on the windshield. "Don't miss the turn here. It's easy to miss," I warned, guiding him up into the short driveway of my apartment complex. "OK, where do I let you out?" "Up a little further. You'll have to find a parking spot to turn around in. There," I said, pointing at a spot near my building that was protected by an awning. "Alright, Clunk," the older munk said, pulling up and throwing the car into reverse. "Actually, Jim, I wanted to show you my apartment." My heart pounded. "Do you have a second?" "Oh, dear. I don't know about that, Clunk," my father said slowly, focusing on the rain in his rear view mirror. "Please?" I placed my paw over his on the gear shift. "Just for a second." The older chipmunk closed his eyes and sighed. Suddenly, he threw the gear shift into neutral and pushed down his parking brake, rubbing his cheeks. "Alright, just for a second." The rain stabbed the tin awning, the sound almost deafening just outside the car. As we walked, I could feel all pretense drifting away, my inhibitions escaping with every breath. I guided my father away from all the noise, past the stairs, and finally to Apartment 3, where I lived. "This is me." "Listen, Clunk," said Jim, reaching out to touch my cheek, to frame my muzzle in his grasp. I thought for sure, this time, he would draw me in, but he just shook his head. "I can't come in." "What? Why not?" I placed a protesting paw against his chest, the silk of his tie cool and soothing to my burning fingers. "There's... something wrong with me. I don't-" I finished his sentence for him, tugging him toward me by his tie and pressing a firm kiss on his mouth. His body shuddered against my grip. "Whoa, kiddo, I-" I kissed him again, inviting him to open his mouth wider with my tongue. Jim staggered sideways until his back was against the wall. I held him there with my body and commanded him by his necktie. This time his mouth welcomed mine, and I tasted my father's kiss for the first time, his thick tongue tangled with my own. I could feel the relief in his chest, all that pent up wild he'd denied unleashed with a single breath. "I don't think we should do this," Jim whispered as I unknotted his tie. I reassured him with another kiss as I undid the first button of his shirt, then the second, the third. I pressed my nose against his chest and breathed him in, drawing a line down his middle with my muzzle, admiring the aged flecks in the cream of his coat, the way his fur swirled out from his navel, the dignified trail of gray that led from his round belly into his dress slacks. "You don't have to do this, Clunk," my old man panted as I undid his belt and clasp and let his pants fall to his ankles. His boxer briefs could barely contain his balls, so I pulled down my father's underwear and let my senses drown in his familiar stink, that stink of male, easily my favorite scent. I took the time to nestle my nose under my dad's fuzzy sack and sniff thoroughly, tracing the lines of his crotch between his leg. His smell was so familiar, like my own wet, wooden spice, but deeper, refined, mature. All the while, my father grunted, spilling fragrant juices from the black lips that sheathed his cock. My muzzle was greeted by a steady stream of thin precum as I pressed my nose at its base and huffed, dragging my tongue up to clean the bitter, nutty mess. I held open my mouth, happy I'd decided to keep my teeth short after all, and pulled back my dad's button to release his captive member. It grew before my eyes, first the tapered, pink head, slightly curved at the tip, then the long, slender shaft, pulsing and wet right down to its wide base. I couldn't help but wonder why I hadn't been so well-endowed as it swelled over my tongue, flooding my mouth with a pleasant, warm bitterness, each notch and nook on the patterned muscle accented with a pungent walnut musk. "Ah, not right here," said Jim, tugging back on my short headfur, right between my ears. "If we're gonna do this, we should do it right." That's the sort of thing I wanted to hear. I gave one great swallow, forcing my father to slam his clenched fist against the neighbor's wall to keep from moaning out loud. Standing, I fumbled through my pockets for my keys, distracted by the bitter wine dripping from the corners of my mouth. I couldn't get the damned thing into the keyhole fast enough to unlock the door. My father stood almost naked behind me; I could feel his heat under my tail as I tumbled the lock. At last, the door swung open, and I turned to guide my father by his paws into my living room, steadying him as he walked out of his shed clothes. And so he stood, silhouetted in the door frame, a chubby, middle aged chipmunk in nothing but an open dress shirt and a pair of shoes. "You've got a nice place," he said, footing the door closed behind him while I turned to kick off my Birkenstocks and undo my tie. I was starting to loosen my belt when Jim grabbed my paws from behind and pulled me against his soft fur, his leaking member nestling itself under my tail. His measured, trembling breath was hot on my neck as he took over my belt, pulling it taut and letting it release its hold on my khakis. My pants and underwear slid off with no further protest, and his cock saddled between my cheeks, his tapered head pressing against my tailhole. I nearly fainted as he suckled on my neck, his teeth just grazing my skin. His gentle muzzle caressed my cheeks and slid against my ear. "These clothes are too big for you," my father cooed, slowly unfastening each button of my shirt until it drifted off between us to the floor. He didn't grind, he didn't bite, he just held me captive against him with an arm draped across my belly, his free paw supporting my heavy sac. Every inch of me was alive, every nerve firing electricity in great waves along my spine, yet I stood there unable to move, quivering under his incredible, delicate power. "I need you now," I finally whispered, blushing at the sheer stupidity of the phrase. "Just tell me where you want me," he said, licking my ear. I broke his hold in a daze, leading him to the back of my apartment, into my bedroom. I climbed onto my bed on all fours, raising my tail high and wagging my bottom in the air as I was wont to do. My father took a deep breath as he grabbed my cheeks, spreading my butt wide open. "You want me to go all the way, then, kiddo?" "Yes, sir," I plead, hiding my face in my sheets. Begging my own father to fuck me... hearing it out loud made me blush. "Alright, then," he said. Suddenly, he popped me on the right cheek, eliciting a small chirp out of his son. "But if we're gonna do this, we're doing it right." "What do you mean?" I said, looking back and shielding my rump from further attacks. "On your back, kiddo. I... I wanna see your face." I could tell the command took all the courage he could muster, so I complied without protest. Sprawling onto my back, I felt incredibly exposed, watching my father's eyes study my adolescent frame with adoration, confusion, and lust. "Alright, well..." Jim grabbed me by the ankles and tugged me down to the edge of the bed, setting off fireworks in my chest. "I've never done this to another guy, so just let me know if I'm doing this wrong." "Yes, sir!" I felt his rod graze my backside as he hoisted my legs over his shoulder, and I braced myself for entry. "Relax, kiddo," he chuckled, lowering himself to his knees and letting his hot breath warm my bottom. I felt his nose prod against my balls, heard him sample my musk. "Wow, you smell like your old man," he gasped, pressing his snout just under my tail and inhaling again. "No wonder I can't help myself." My father had a very short but very thick tongue, which he dragged solidly up by backside, from my tail to my balls. I wrapped my paws in my sheets just for something to grab onto, listened to him grunt between my legs, the sound of his tongue probing and wetting my tailhole. I bit my arm to keep from moaning too loudly, pushing back against his muzzle to help him burrow deeper. My own dad was eating me out! His viscous slobber was about to be lube for his cock! My father was going to fuck me! I wasn't sure I could last much longer. "You alright, kiddo?" Jim peered at me over my balls, his lusty breathing red hot on my slippery rump. "I can't wait anymore," I whined. "You've gotta fuck me!" "Language!" Dad barked, standing so my legs fell into the crook of his arms and his tapering cock rested over my aching sac. "That's no way to talk to your father." Jim knew all the right buttons to push. "I'm sorry, Dad, I just really... really need this." "What do you say, kiddo?" he teased, pulling back to guide his curved tip right against my waiting pucker. "Please?" I managed. "That's a good boy," Jim said, steadying himself and leaning over me so I could smell my own pheromones on his breath. Nothing sends clouds into my chest like knowing I'm a good boy. Nothing makes me yearn for a mouth like the scent of my body on a man's tongue. To be fair, chipmunks aren't as well-endowed as canines or marsupials, let alone horses and the like. But there was something to be said for the way my dad's curved dick tugged on my prostate as it hilted inside me. "Unf!" "Mmph, you alright?" His eyes searched mine, scanning for any sign of harm. "Couldn't be better," I reassured him, resting my paw on his shoulder. Dad smiled with a huff of relief. My father employed an unfamiliar rhythm. He'd pull back slowly and drive in deep, lingering there, pressing a desperate kiss into my mouth. I tasted myself on him, shared his flavor, breathed his breath and swallowed his spit. Then he'd release, exhale, and slide back out. Both ways, his curved cock toyed with my prostate, pulling against it as he slid out and pounding it on reentry. His pulse rocketed through my body with every thrust, slamming my headboard against the wall at odd intervals, again and again and again. All of me begged for his release, for him to use me and finish me, but he was in no hurry. The pleasure building inside me was slow, almost agonizing. He kept me suspended in limbo, free falling, savoring me. "I love you, kiddo," he spoke suddenly, even as a strand of saliva still connected our lips. The words crashed over me like a wave. I could taste it on his next kiss, a need for connection, for recognition, for forgiveness. He wanted me, all of me, all that I could give him. He wasn't fucking me. My father was making love to me. "Dad..." What could I say with his mouth inside mine? "God, I love you so much, kid." "I love you, too, Dad," I squeaked. His breath quickened to double-time. "Mmph, I'm really close, Clunk." I felt his body lock up, his thrusts becoming quick, shallow, unbalanced, the tip of his member rocking against my p-spot. I threw back my head and grabbed as much sheet as I could in a death grip. He was launching me over the edge without so much as touching my cock! "Dad, I'm gonna cum!" But it refused to release. It had to work its way slowly through my little shaft like magma, torturing me until my father finally crashed into me, forcing me to erupt between our furry bellies. It shot out, wetting my glasses, my father's chin, our chests, pumping round after round after round. I was afraid it might not stop. I got to see my father's face, though, as he filled my insides up with his thick load. His jaw slacked in panting, rounded spectacles barely hanging onto his muzzle, those deep-brown eyes rolled back. I imagined I looked just as relieved. We bathed in afterglow for a moment, nose to nose, panting out of sync. The room was on fire, the raw, muddy scent of our sex ablaze in the air. I rested my airborne legs around my father's thick waist, enjoying the sticky closeness as I pulled him into the mess I'd made of our fur. "Wow," I laughed after a while. "Yeah... what the heck did I just do?" Jim's voice lacked humor. "You alright?" "God," he said, pleading at me with his furrowed stripes. "What did I just do?" "Dad?" It was probably the worst thing I could have said. My body was shocked by the abrupt lack of father in my rump; he pulled away in a panic. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he whined, rubbing his cheeks and searching the bedroom floor. "Wait, hold on, Dad." I sat up at the edge of the bed. "I have to go. Jesus, where are my pants? Fuck, the living room." "Please wait!" I reached out and grabbed his wrist just as he was about to cross the threshold into the hall. He stopped just short of tugging me off the bed and stood, his head hanging away from me. "Don't leave." Jim clenched his paw, his tendons stretching in my grip. He turned his head and met my eyes, and my heart sank. What had I done to this chipmunk? How did I make him so much older than before? He heaved a terrible sigh before going limp, allowing me to pull him to a sitting position on the bed. "I swear," he said, studying his lithe fingers between his naked knees, "I didn't want it to go like this. I don't know what came over me." I didn't know how to respond, so I sat next to him in silence. He continued. "I never imagined I'd have these sorts of... feelings. It never once crossed my mind, and then..." My father threw up his paws and fell backward on the bed, letting the air in his lungs escape through loose lips. "Well," I tried, resting my paw on his chest, "I felt the same way. It's something we both wanted." "Clunk," he said, "sometimes being an adult means not doing what you want to do the most." He stared up at my ceiling fan for a very long, pregnant moment. I couldn't find anything to focus on, so I let my vision blur somewhere between the brown of his fur and my white linens. After all that, after that perfect satisfaction, I felt like I had robbed my old man of his last shred of dignity. "I never should have left," he said, interrupting my thoughts. "I was so selfish. Just the idea of spending another year, another month with that woman. I felt so trapped, I just needed to escape. But I left you to fend for yourself. Christ, you're too young to be grown up already. I'm so sorry, Clunk. I'm sorry for everything." If I were the crying type, that would have set me off. Instead, I closed my eyes and slumped against my dad, allowing him to warm my cheek with his chestfur. "You know," I said, "for a really long time, I thought you left because of me. When you asked me to meet you, I didn't know what to think. But now, I'm really, really glad I met you." My father breathed a laugh and ruffled my already messy headfur. "You're sweet. But no decent father has sex with his underaged son." "I beg to differ," I said, pulling myself up to kiss my father on the mouth. "You're not perfect, but you'll do." "So you like older men, huh?" he teased. "Typically," I admitted. "You weren't supposed to answer yes." "I try not to lie if I can help it." My dad's brow furrowed. "And this is all... OK with you?" "I wouldn't have it any other way." Jim shook his head. "I don't know how I feel about that." "Will you stay tonight?" The old chipmunk yawned and checked his watch. "Well, I'm too tired to leave now, but I have to leave early in the morning. Don't you have school?" I chuckled. "I haven't gone to school since sixth grade." "You what?" Dad bolted upright, grabbing me by the shoulders. All of the sudden, I felt like a scolded puppy. "Clunk, you can't just stop going to school!" "Well... I had to work," I reasoned, "and no one seemed to care that I was missing." "You're kidding me!" He roared. "I cannot believe that woman would take you out of school to work so she could be lazy. Why do I pay child support if you're not even going to school?" "Child support? You pay child support?" "Ho-ly cow, Clunk," he said, falling back again and rubbing his cheeks. "You're too bright not to have an education. What about college? Your future? You can at least get your GED." Watching my father gesture at the ceiling almost made me laugh. "Well, I'd love to, but I can't really afford it." "That's ridiculous. I'll pay for it. You're going to get your damned GED. I'm not letting my kid miss out on college for something as stupid as that. You're too smart." I laughed out loud. "OK, OK. I promise, I'll get my GED." "Good," he affirmed, crossing his arms. "Where the heck did all that child support go?" "I guess you'll have to ask her." My dad yawned again, stretching his arms back above his head. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Not tonight, though. I've had more than I can handle for tonight." I snuggled up against him, nuzzling under his arm to enjoy the embers of his smokey scent as we slept together. My dad turned in toward me and rested his head over mine, cradling me in his comfortable embrace.

The morning sun cast itself over my bedroom, and I found myself alone. Groggy, I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out into the living room. My father's clothes were gone, but there was a note on the coffee table.

Had to leave early. Left your food in the fridge. Call you soon. -Jim

I grinned, vaguely recalling a kiss on the forehead, the nose, the lips. With a yawn and a stretch, I tumbled back down the hall and into my bed. I wrapped myself in my sheets, breathing in where my father had lain, and drifted back to sleep.