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I arrived in Paris late on a Monday night. It was raining, and cold, and it seemed colder than London. The Gare du Nord was fairly protected at least, and I managed to get my backpack and smaller bag off the Eurostar without freezing to death. The warm clothes Marj had bought me felt like a new warm skin, and I could feel her last hug still keeping me warm, a last kiss on my lips.

The whole trip I was sitting across from a French couple who never spoke, never interacted except with the conductor. It was as if they were in their own separate worlds, along a parallel course. They each read a book and ignored the world, and me, as best they could. The only sound I got from either of them was a torrent of rapid and pissed off French from the lady, an elegant looking doe, when I accidentally managed to nudge her with my bag as I got it down from the overhead bin.

My limited highschool French wasn't up to the task of understanding the word salad that came my way. I understood young, and horse, and the word con, which was pretty good for a general purpose insult, but I was always about two insults behind. So I just smiled, and waved, and said merci beaucoup madame in my most polite school colt way and ignored the rest. That got a smile from the guy at least.

I wondered if I would have a relationship like that one day. If so, you are hereby requested to kill me.

Once I was standing on the platform though, I had no idea what to do. The sign with the big M beckoned, and I knew somewhere down there was the answer, so I hefted my bags and trotted like a good packhorse.

It took a couple of slight detours to work out but I managed to find my youth hostel not far from République metro station. The room was everything I had paid for, which is to say a clean but basic six bunk room with not much furniture. Still, for a stallion on a budget it would do, even if my fetlocks and hooves had to stick out over the end of the bunk when I slept.

I stowed all my stuff, careful to lock away everything, and contemplated what to do next. My guide book was moderately helpful, but it couldn't answer the most important question; how not to feel totally shit.

It was Monday, it was cold, it was raining, and even though it was Paris, I was in a total black despair. That was because it was my birthday, and in the emotional wreck of leaving London and Marj, she had forgotten and I had been too hurt to remind her. I was 18, and alone, and even in the most romantic city on the planet I felt low down to the feathering over my hooves.

Action seemed the only way forward, and so action it was, and I headed back for the Metro and a train to the centre of it all. Ligne 11, straight to Hotel de Ville and the Seine.

So I got my first view of the Seine, and Notre Dame, on my 18th birthday. I checked my phone, willing Marjorie to call or text, but nothing. My parents had left voicemails, and my brother and sister texted their love, and mates were facebook messaging all over the joint, but no Marj. Even Sabine managed to remember, eventually.

Not knowing what to do, I crossed the river and wandered around the front of Notre Dame, then kept going for a bit, looking for places that were open. I had read that Monday night wasn't exactly the most lively time of the week in Paris, but apart from really trashy looking tourist spots, it seemed dead, even for winter.

I was about to give up once I crossed to the far side of the Seine when I spied a bookstore, called Shakespeare and Co. I remembered it from a movie, and decided this would be my first stop for the night. The place was open, even in this cold dark January night, and it was warm, and nobody asked me for money to stay. I worked my way upstairs to what turned out to be a reading library, all sorts of second hand books to read, and warm comfy seats. Sitting down on one, I found I had taken the favourite spot of a white housecat, who meowed in a very French style at me, then jumped on my lap when that didn't seem to work, clawing my thighs until they were the perfect consistency and then taking up a considered pose draped over my groin. I succumbed to the cat's charms, as I always seemed to, feeding him the remains of a croissant I had picked up at Gare du Nord.

A mare across the room had watched this display with a slight smile on her muzzle, then dropped her gaze into a copy of something by Proust when I noticed her. I was determined to get her to talk though.

"Hey there!"

"Hello"

Promising. She spoke English, though this was an English language bookshop in Paris. If there was a better place to pick up girls who I could talk to and who might be interested in talking to me I didn't know where that was, and wished someone would tell me before I turned 19.

"Looks like I made a friend."

"Or an enemy. That was his spot."

"Ahh, him is it. You know him?"

"His name is Kitty."

"You would think in a bookstore full of the complete works of English literature, they could come up with a more interesting name."

"He is named after the original cat that lived here, who in turn was named after Anne Frank's friend. Not Kitty as in cat."

After placing me nicely back in my spot, she returned to Proust, and I buried my muzzle in Gibbons Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire which I had picked up on a side table and tried to read in an effort to persuade her of my superior intellectual standing. Of course, I was a complete dunce, but she need not know that, at least until she had trumped me with her superior cat knowledge. And Anne Frank. Now I just felt like an uneducated tosser.

Then again, she was beautiful, and the way her forelock fell over her eyes, made her look shy and mysterious and sweet. And she was a Palomino. I couldn't not fall in love with a Palomino. After a long silent pause, both in our works of literature, I got up the courage to speak to her again.

"Err, I'm Paul. From Australia."

"Laerke. From Denmark."

I reached out a hand for a hearty shake, which she returned. She had a good handshake, firm and no nonsense. My dad would have liked her.

"Are you here for long?"

"The bookstore closes at 11."

"No, I mean...Paris."

"I do not know. I am staying until I am ready to leave. Does that sound odd?"

"No, I'm the same I think. I don't know why I'm here, and I don't know what I'm going to do, and all I know is how much I hurt inside. But I'm here, so, fuck it."

She regarded me directly for the first time, eyes slowly blinking, and I noticed they were a beautiful ice blue. I could drown in those eyes. She tilted her head a little, and her ears suddenly shot forwards and she smiled.

"That sounds familiar Paul. Well, perhaps we can fuck it together, as you say. Not tonight though...tonight I have plans. Tomorrow...will you be here?"

"Tomorrow, yes, definitely, absolutely..."

"One yes is enough Paul. Unless you want to be French. They say everything three times for emphasis...très, très, très bon...vraiment, vraiment, vraiment con..."

"I got the last one, from a lady on the Eurostar."

"Then you probably deserved it."

She stood up, carefully replacing the book on the shelves, before walking to a table by the window to give an old typewriter sitting there an affectionate dusting.

"Au revoir Paul. A demain soir."

I watched her trot towards the staircase, following the bounce of her tail and the gentle jiggling of her mane, all golden and braided in black. My mane was all over the place and getting in my eyes. I blew air out my nostrils to try to clear it, making an otter girl with a fox guy in tow coming through from the next room blink and point and giggle.

"Yes, watch the funny horse. You otters are lucky you don't have a mane...for that, you get a cat instead."

I stood up abruptly, making Kitty suddenly let out a complaining meowl as he dug his claws into my flesh. He wasn't being relocated voluntarily it seemed, and had decided that equine made the best cat bed. I managed to extricate him one claw at a time. In spite of my gift of croissant, he didn't seem to think we were mates any more.

By the time I managed to get myself de-Kittied, and past the otter and fox duo, I had lost sight of the mare. She must have moved in a hurry, because once I got out the front door, I couldn't see her. After a brief attempt at following her by scent (flowers, probably roses, and a hint of lavender and hay...intoxicating), I trudged over the river and past the souvenir sellers outside Notre Dame in a monumental funk.

I walked and just kept going, deciding to head back to the hostel on my hooves. A northbound road just the other side of Rue de Rivoli looked promising, and I trotted on with purpose, past a department store and a homeless wolf squatting on the pavement beside an ATM with a small tabby cat on his lap. I dropped a two Euro piece in his hat, and gave him a smile, two lost souls on a Monday night. I hope if I end up like that, I will find a cat that loyal. And a random stranger prepared to smile.

As I headed further North I also found where all the people seemed to be. The area was packed, with people on scooters everywhere, pedestrians, lost looking tourists, and a whole swathe of guys looking brooding. I thought it must be a local custom for that suburb, which the street signs proclaimed as the 4th Arrondissement.

My nostrils flared in longing as I passed a pizza joint, a fairly upmarket one, but a pizza joint none the less. It proclaimed to do à emporter, take away, which was fairly usual for Paris according to my guidebook. I detoured, glad to be out of the throng for a second, and acquired a couple of pieces of pizza while surrendering a scandalous number of Euro. It was my birthday present to myself, and I waited for them to bag it up while watching my phone hoping for Marjorie to ring. I was destined to be disappointed, and my ears had a distinct droop as I headed back out into the street which I now knew as Rue du Temple.

I was also destined not to enjoy my pizza. One hazard they never told me about when discussing the continent. Paris had these narrow footpaths for its old cobbled streets, and half the space was taken up by cars and scooters defying the laws of physics and municipal parking laws. For a big equine like me, who was awkward and prone to banging into things at the best of times, I found myself in a nightmare of colliding furs and insults, made worse by a quirk of behavioural psychology.

As a good Aussie, I knew my road rules of course, and as soon as I got home that license was mine, all mine. But it wasn't just the road; stairs, footpaths, the rule was the same. Keep to the left. Keep to the left.

Except, I was in Paris.

As I swam North against the tide, I kept doing the same awkward dance. Approaching fur; no space. I'd swerve Left. They'd swerve right. Collision imminent; iceberg dead ahead.

The final dance of the evening happened just South of Rue Rambuteau as I saw a big brown furred bear in dapper black and grey clothes with a red white and blue scarf approaching. He had his head down, thumb moving over the screen of his phone. I screamed in my head, 'Right' but my body had other ideas and my hips swivelled and hooves moved in their programmed way to the left leaving my tail as the only part of my body to head in the right direction.

The bear caught sight of me at the last second, just as I was about to zig, and he zagged right as of course every pedestrian who has a clue in Paris does, n'est ce pas? and we smacked head on right next to a large scooter which promptly fell over as I leant on it to try to regain my balance. The pizza flew over his shoulder into the street and was promptly run over by another scooter which had to perform a nice slalom to avoid its falling compatriot, and the bear's glasses, which I had only just noticed, performed a sort of swan dive.

I reached for them, trying to pluck a slips catch out of the air, but instead I just managed to deflect them into the gutter where one arm fell off.

This little drama created quite a stir, a lot of whistles and rapid French, and some laughter. I wanted the road to eat me up if at all possible. And then I had to face the bear.

"Je suis très, très, très desole monsieur!"

I figured if ever there was a time to try out Laerke's rule of three, this was it.

The bear looked like he was going to get angry, and then mentally shrugged. Another stupid tourist, I assume he had seen more than enough. He placed the broken glasses on the end of his nose with exaggerated care, and then he did shrug.

"Tant pis."

"Err...please...please let me...er...buy you something...to make up for it..."

He looked at me again, adjusting his glasses. They seemed to struggle to stay on with only one arm, and he kept having to hold them. Either that or he was stalling for time while he translated; quite possibly the latter I realised after once the limits of his English became apparent.

We managed to raise the scooter, just as its owner, an elegant looking tiger, came out of a large green door and unleashed a tirade of epic proportions. The bear returned fire in triplicate, while I just stood and blinked rapidly. They were both looking at me now, and I gave a small smile and a wave.

"Bonjour!"

The tiger shook his head, and the two seemed to share a joke. I assumed I was the joke. Battle having been averted, the tiger fired up his scooter and the bear pointed towards the side street I had just passed. I noticed a food shop, selling bagels it seemed, and fairly popular.

"Comment vous vous appelez monsieur le cheval?"

"Je m'appel Paul. Et vous?"

"Henri. Vous voulez un bagel Paul?"

"Oui!"

I followed my victim's pointing paw and headed for the bagel shop, which seemed to be going strong for a Monday night. It also seemed entirely full of the brooding guys I had seen so much of on my walk.

There appeared to be two of Henri's friends here too, and they greeted him warmly with kisses in the Gallic style, or that was my assumption at first. Even when the kisses strayed from cheeks to other places. There was a lot of laughter and conversation about our little mishap, and the other two eyed me up with a strange mix of emotions I couldn't place. Sort of like I was simultaneously dessert and a stink grenade was the best I could come up with. The bear made the introductions, and I got to shake paws with Thierry (a tiger), and Jean (a wolf).

Both looked very well dressed, as did everyone in Paris except the tourists. At least I could almost match them, in the clothes I had bought with Marjorie what seemed an age ago now. The faces of the other two seemed to register that too, and I caught a side whisper from the tiger and something about BCBG. The muzzle of the wolf turned down in a frown, and he shook his head. Apparently I didn't qualify for whatever it was. Then the word minet, which seemed to get general approval though the bear tried to hush them.

I offered to buy bagels for all of us, it seemed the least I could do after shirt-fronting the bear. He looked about thirty, as they all did, though it was hard to tell under the careful hair and the multiple layers of aftershave.

We exchanged small talk while we polished off the bagels, or really minute talk, as my French was sorely lacking. They were content to converse amongst themselves in rapid French and I prepared to leave when the bear piped up.

"So, Paul, what is it you are wanting to do here?"

"Ahh...well, it's my birthday, and I wanted to get pissed."

"Birthday...ahhh congratulations! But what is pissed? Angry?"

"No, err...je voudrais un boisson."

"Poisson? I do not know any fish restaurants near but..."

"Non. B..B...Boisson. Je voudrais un boisson, beaucoup de boisson...s'il y a un bar à côté...non...près, d'ici?"

The three looked at me for a second, as did a couple of other nearby furs who gave the tiger a high five and smiled. Thierry was the one who finally piped up.

"Oui! Voila!"

His finger was pointing at a silver door set back from the kerb across the street. It looked just like any number of doors in the area, though this one was more protected and seemed to have some sort of viewing port which most lacked. Still, if there were drinks to be had, I felt like getting maggoted.

Henri tried to have some sort of discussion with the tiger, but he just waved him off, and polished off the last of his bagel.

"On y va?"

"On y va!"

We happy four traipsed across the street like a rag tag army, one tiger, one bear, one wolf, one horse in the direction of the promised land behind the silver door in front of me.

I got the first inkling of what I was in for when I got up close.

Club Homme. Hommes seulement SVP.

"Errr guys...messieurs...un moment.."

"Vous voulez une boisson...pardon, beaucoup de boissons, oui?"

"Yes..um...oui..d'accord..."

"Suivez-moi."

The tiger dealt with the guy asking questions now at the door, and I turned to the bear, who gave the first apologetic look I had seen in France. He shrugged, but smiled. I had caught him checking out my ass first though.

"Une pièce d'identité monsieur le cheval."

"Err...."

I handed over my license, or at least my learners permit. My passport was safely locked up back at the hostel. The tiger poked it through the grille that had opened up beside the door.

There was an animated exchange in French, and much laughing.

"You did not say you were turning 18 monsieur!"

The bear gave a short grunt and seemed to try to dissuade the tiger again, but the wolf shushed him and the door opened and suddenly we were inside. Into a dark, overheated, and loud cave of ...something.

"Welcome Paul. Would you like a drink yes?"

The tiger was grinning at me as I stumbled into the large bar area, and took in the sights, sounds, and, I noticed, smells of my first gay club. And by the looks of some of the moves on the dancefloor, there was more than just dancing in the offing.

We all pulled up seats at the bar, and the tiger, who seemed to be the natural leader of the three, ordered beers for us all. This I could handle, and I knocked back the Guinness with the speed only a thirsty and disgruntled stallion can manage. It wasn't half bad, and I soon was onto my fourth while the others looked on impressed at my drinking capacity.

Our little grouping seemed to act as a kind of gravitational centre drawing curious onlookers, more French I couldn't follow except occasional words, and lots of smiles and laughter. The beer flowed, and I tried to pay for a round though I really couldn't afford it, but the tiger just produced his credit card and the drinks kept coming, along with the looks. Eventually they settled down to the serious business of grilling me and making me feel uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time.

Unsurprisingly, it was Thierry who led the charge.

"So, monsieur, shall we try English?"

"Um, yes please. My French is..."

"Merdique."

"Well, I guess..."

"Tant pis Paul. You are cute enough and your accent is...like your ass...hmmm...baisable?"

"Fuckable" the wolf nodded from behind his beer.

I turned a redder shade of scarlet.

"Oui, très, très, très baisable."

Well, the rule of three did seem to hold after all.

"So, what are you doing here when you should be with some beautiful girl and enjoying Paris eh? You are straight non?"

"Yes, I'm straight."

"Oui, we could tell. You look so much like you are freaking when you come in yes but it is adorable non?"

"I'm...adjusting..."

"Le Marais does that."

"I'm fine now, thanks for the beers though."

"_Pas de problème_Paul. Nobody has been able to knock Henri like that in a long time, it was worth it to see his face."

All three started laughing now, and I looked sufficiently lost that they took pity.

"Ecoutes-moi bien Paul. Henri, Jean and I played rugby together, and Henri is prop. Nobody could stop him, until an 18 year old horse it seems. He must have been looking at your package."

"HEY!"

"Quiet Henri, we know how much you like the equines, and the straight boys too. We were all supposed to meet and come here together tonight and pick up guys, but instead we found a straight horse. So, you can tell us all about your life instead. Bon. Et...vous pouvez parler un peu plus doucement, oui? Your accent may be fuckable, but you speak English not like the BBC."

It seemed I was not to be allowed off too easy, and as the beer took hold of me, I found myself talking, spewing out all the internal bile and pain and loss, even the things I normally kept hidden. Somehow, it worked, because of the guys. Older, wiser, I assumed they would think everything I did was stupid, but as I went on and admitted one embarrassing detail after another, they dropped their reserve in stages and just nodded and sighed and looked meaningfully.

Eventually, though reluctantly, they began to tell me some of their own stupidities and brushes with depression and loss and failure while laughing and punching my shoulder and stroking my butt...well, that was mostly Henri, and I didn't mind so much from the quiet bear. For the first time in my life, I didn't feel like I was a total failure. In the company of men, or at least these men, I was just a fellow traveller blundering around a darkened room running into furniture trying to find the light switch.

Guys don't talk about this shit you see. Not ones my age, anyway, we are supposed to be strong, yet caring, and ripped gym studs who are yet metrosexual and in touch with our feelings able to wrestle, kill and field dress a wild moose with our bare hands, star on the football field, and yet understand when a girl just needs to cuddle and have us compose a sonnet and...yeah, horseshit. We're all faking it, to a greater or lesser extent. These guys seemed beyond that, at least with me. Maybe because I was a tourist and would never see them again.

Though judging by the long sultry looks Thierry was giving a deer on the dancefloor, he was more than willing to project pure slut for the right guy.

There was one topic we seemed to agree on though. At the end of my tale, and the many moods of Marjorie, the bear piped up from my left.

"Women!"

There were nods, and sighs, and a general chorus of agreement. It was so incongruous that I burst out laughing, choking on my beer.

"What it is that is so amusing?"

"Um...well...how much would you guys know..." That made the tiger bristle.

"Enough! Some of us have dabbled...and we all find les femmes...strange creatures. We sympathise. That Marjorie...and that Sabine, both caused my poor horse pain. And the evil Leesa, stealing your virginité and casting you aside_._ They need to be opposed! Allons enfants de la patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé! Contre nous de la tyrannie!"

The tune was familiar, but I gathered the words were a little different for me. The other guys stood and saluted though, and the room gave a boozy cheer and got back to humping on the dancefloor.

"Ahh! Et voilà!!"

The bartended returned from out the back, bringing something on a small plate. One pain au chocolat, with a single sparkler sticking out of the top.

"Joyeux anniversaire Paul"

I tried hard not to cry as I watched it burn down to the pastry and got slaps on the back from the assembled guys.

Jean had been keeping pace with the beers but was the first to get a bit ragged. He didn't have the bulk of me or Henri, or the apparent booze tolerance of Thierry who wasn't even breaking into a sweat. The deer was becoming more suggestive though, and that was threatening to break his façade a little. The wolf gave me a slap on the chest, sort of bro style, and a big boozy smile.

"It's a shame we don't have anything else to give Paul for his birthday non?"

The tiger seemed uncertain where the wolf was going, giving him a sideways look. "You forgot he broke Henri's glasses, he does not deserve too much even if he is that cute."

"Well...he could have une pipe."

The bear sounded like he swallowed half his beer, and the tiger dissolved in giggles. He even ignored the deer for at least 30 seconds.

"Um...I don't smoke...a pipe or anything else...like..."

The bear now sounded like he had emphacaema and the tiger was almost crying.

"Non, non, non Paul. It is not you who would be doing the ...er...smoking..."

"I don't get it."

"Pardon mon p'tit cheval. I think the word is blowjob"

I dropped my head and muttered. I could feel my mane shaking and my ears quivering as I took that in.

"Um...I've never...had one..."

There was silence. Then Jean slapped me once, softly, on the muzzle looking scandalised.

"Non! Non...c'est impossible..."

Henri recovered enough to speak finally. The quiet bear seemed to be roused to speech by this revelation.

"But Paul...all those girls..."

"Well, Denese and Sharon didn't like it, so I stuck to going down on them. And I really just let Leesa take me anyway, and Sabine, well she called the shots too. So, I never got the chance. And I'm not going to make a girl do something she doesn't want so..."

I felt the bear give me a warm hug from the side, as the tiger and the wolf shook their heads.

"This cannot be. You cannot be 18 and cute and not have had a blowjob. It is ridiculous. Tonight, monsieur Paul, will be the night...it is our duty! We will not let you down!"

"Err...could we just...dance, please?"

It seemed they didn't need much encouragement, and we were all up on the dancefloor. Pretty soon I noticed that the default dancing move was more...intimate, than I was used to though. Paws and hands were going into places that made my eyes stand out. And I soon noticed something else I hadn't before; the couples heading for a door in the back wall.

I managed to get the bear's attention and pointed.

"Um...where are they going?"

He smiled and shook his head. Thierry nudged me and winked.

"It is where Henri wants to take you Paul. To make good on our debt of honour."

"But..."

"Go with him Paul. He is a gentle nice bear, who has been through too much and still remains a nice gentle bear. He likes you, we all can see non? And you owe him for the glasses" another wink.

I felt the bear close behind me, and I felt warm all over. I didn't know how many beers I had, but it was enough to feel immortal. Thierry had found the deer, and was busy humping into his ass while he bit his neck and smiled at me. There were two other guys now chatting up Jean, and I felt other furs closing in. A finger came out of nowhere, and a tip traced the outline of my groin as I whinnied and pushed back against Henri. I traced the finger to a big bull who had discarded his top as he danced. His smile was entirely too predatory for an herbivore.

"On y va"

The bear grunted, taking my hand and pulling me across the floor towards the doorway while Jean celebrated our departure with a wolf whistle.

I passed three doorways with sounds that made me shiver and tingle before we reached one that was unoccupied. The bear pulled me inside. It was quiet, apart from the moans from the room next door.

"Please forgive me Paul, I thought you might want to get away is all."

The big bear was smiling now, with a warmth that he didn't often muster in company. I wondered at that.

"Merci monsieur."

"Your accent really is cute. I have not met many from Australia."

"I'm just pretty normal, no Steve Irwin."

"Ahh, the 'Crikey' idiot. Ridiculous. I was happy for the stingray"

Now I broke up in a fit of giggles.

"Um..Paul...is it true you never had the chance for a...er...well..."

I nodded. What I didn't know how to say though, was it was a lie. I had the chance, in fact, I had been begged more than once. It was just, it was complicated, and had something to do with why I didn't mind it here so much, and why I was feeling nostalgic.

After Steve and I fell out, my best friend was another guy from football, though this one went to my school. Jaxson, my big silly bull, and God I hated his bogan spelling of Jackson, but I liked him. He was funny, loyal, and understanding, and I relied on him more than anyone. When I disappeared into the rabbit hole of depression, he could see, and he called me on it. He was the only one to do it.

If you have one good friend, good enough to call you on it when you are struggling, you have a prize worth more than anything. If I teach you nothing else, that would be it. Every guy needs it.

I confessed, and ended up in his arms, just being held. It felt, well, like home in a way. Probably like I wished I could feel in my dad's arms if we had any sort of relationship that worked. Jaxson always made me feel like he gave a shit no matter how much I fucked up.

In the spirit of sharing vulnerabilities, though, Jaxson confessed his own secret. He was gay, and I was the first at school to know. I was proud, and worried for him in case people found out and didn't take it well, and surprised but not in hindsight. I realised it didn't make me want him to stop holding me, and he realised that too.

He confided he always liked me and wanted to try stuff, and if I wanted he would suck me off any time. In the midst of how I was feeling, a part of me wanted the closeness, as I had just been dumped by Sharon and I was in the pits. A part of me also wanted someone to want me, even a little bit, someone who actually gave a fuck.

We never did though. Curiosity warred with many complex emotions, and most of all, I didn't want to screw up what we had. He was my bro, first and foremost. The most I would come at was jerking off together, watching bad porn on Yifftube. I knew he was watching me while I was watching the screen, but I didn't mind. I was making my mate a bit happy, that was something.

Now I was in the back room of a gay pick up club in Paris with a 30 year old French bear and the curiosity kicked back in again, and he wasn't my best mate.

"Paul?"

"Um...Henri...er....no..."

"That is a shame. It feels good. Très bon..."

I felt his paws on me then, and I didn't resist. Just looked in his eyes. He watched me, moving slowly, his paws sliding under my shirt, scraping up my skin and over my chest as he lifted my top for a better look.

"I used to look that good. Damn the petite bourgeoisie...and the patisserie..."

His paws continued moving, down my belly to my jeans. He ran his fingers along the top of my jeans just caressing my hips and belly, and my abdomen clenched reflexively and I laughed.

"Tickles!"

"Pardon..."

Then he undid my belt, and pulled my jeans slowly down my thighs. I was wearing my best underwear, a gift from Sharon to cheer me up before she broke it off, a pair of Aussiebums. They were one size to small now, and gripped my package like a second skin. The huff of appreciation from Henri was strangely wonderful, like fellatio for the ego.

"Très beau..."

I closed my eyes and whickered as he stroked my thigh muscles then hefted my balls, trying to imagine Sabine. My body was on fire with mixed feelings, my tail shook and I could feel my tail swishing side to side.

"Paul"

"Uh huh..."

"Paul...what is wrong?"

All I could think of was Jaxson. He touched me, once, as we jacked off happily together. I felt him grip my horsehood, my best mate, and I wanted to not show how much I was freaking, but my body jerked back a little and I lost part of my stiffy. He looked so sad, and I had made him sad. I hated making people sad, it was all I seemed to do, and especially one I loved as much as Jax.

My body was still shaking. I felt the bear paws on my jeans again, this time pulling them up. One warm muzzle spent a second on my sheath through the tight fabric, and I heard a soft kiss, then he was tucking me in and refastening my belt. I opened my eyes to look down, and I think I was about to cry because he stood and just bear hugged me.

"Your last birthday present Paul."

"Why..."

"Not enough of you wants it. I won't be like that Leesa, you should have better. Not tonight, on your birthday. This is best I can give."

I managed a kiss, at least. With a guy, but it felt good. Even when his glasses fell off and finally shattered on the easy to wash concrete floor.

We returned to the dance floor to a round of applause from Thierry.

"How was he?"

The bear smiled, squinting now as he probably couldn't see.

"Magnifique!"

That brought a round of cheers, and a few punches to my arm. Thierry winked as he pulled the deer towards the doorway we had just left, and Henri waved goodbye as he led me to the door. I could not see Jean; he was surrounded by a mass of gyrating guys all trying to hump him simultaneously on the dance floor.

"I will walk you home."

The bear would not be dissuaded, and we trotted slowly along the streets through the night, while we talked. Away from Thierry, who seemed to suck all the oxygen in the room into himself leaving none for Henri, the bear was surprisingly talkative. He told me all the things to see, all the pitfalls of Paris, and more of his life. And his own vulnerabilities, which seemed to include straight stallions.

"What is it I do not know. You are all too sexy. My Jean-Paul, now, he was sexy. I miss him."

"Did you love him?"

"Yes, even after he got married."

"Why do you love a straight guy? I don't understand?"

"I think it is because you want to believe that they will love you enough to turn for you. The ultimate fantasy. More cauchemar than rêve, I think. Whoever you love, they must be able to love you back equal, or it is headed for disaster non?"

I had to ponder on that one. It never seemed to factor in to who I fell in love with, or how I lived at all. One impulse moment to the next, one inevitable step to disaster to the next. I wish I had listened more to Henri that night. Then he hit me between the eyes.

"Par exemple, that Marjorie, she loves you, but you cannot see her the same. It is totally unequal and she should know that."

I was so stunned I stopped in my tracks in the middle of crossing a street.

"Wha..."

"Paul, the traffic!" I reengaged my hooves and managed to avoid a Peugeot who gave me a large serve with his horn.

"It is obvious non? She has feelings for you, and you make her jealous with that Sabine."

"But, she can't. She's my mum's best friend!"

"Oui"

"She's...forty!"

"Yes, like me with the straight boys. The heart wants. It does not listen to the mind."

I was silent then just listening to the bear, my mind whirring as I took it in. It could not be. Not Marjorie. We were mates...

Like me and Jaxson...

I came to another sudden halt as the street ended and we were facing a wide thoroughfare with green down the middle. My instincts said left...but I hesitated.

"You are lost Paul?"

"A little."

"It is ok to be lost mon p'tit cheval."

"I think I know that now. I didn't before." I suddenly reached for the bear and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek that drew another burst of car horn, this time from a Citroen, and an embarrassed laugh from the bear.

"No public kissing in Paris Paul. You tourists...so shocking"

"Pardon."

He smiled as I turned left, and began to head up Boulevard Richard Lenoir.

"And your instincts are better than you know. But Paul..."

"Yes?"

"Other side of the road...this side most are heading towards us."

Well, that instinct would improve eventually.

*beep* *beep*

"Your phone?"

It was. I glanced at the screen. Marjorie.

I didn't know whether to frown or dance. I did both, much to Henri's amusement.