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The Last day of summer; a Gray Muzzle story

Summer is not a wonderful time to be a writer. Living in a New York City apartment may be great for material, but the realities are not so pleasant. No air conditioning means open windows, and the dirt, heat, and noise that go with them. To make things worse, my accountant was reminding me that having some money come in in the near future was a necessity, so it was clear, I needed to start writing.

Luckily, two seemingly unrelated events pulled everything together; I got an assignment from a magazine with which I work; they had a deadline, and they would pay well. Second, a friend called wanting to know if I'd like to use his house in the Hamptons for the summer, since he would be in some exotic locale for the rest of the year. Does it get any better? Foxes travel light, so, I threw a few things in a bag, and headed off for the Long Island Railroad. Within a few hours I was in a cab, headed for my summer quarters.

I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised. As the Hamptons go, it was hardly opulent. Still, it was a smart little Cape Cod, bright, cheery, and most importantly, it was right on the beach! Walking out onto the back porch, I saw the most breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. Mind you, it doesn't take a lot to impress me, since the one window in my apartment faces a brick wall, but when you're in a Manhattan rent control unit, you don't complain. Once I caught my breath, I checked out the rest of the house. My friend had really gone overboard, with Egyptian cotton sheets, fresh flowers, and a totally stocked refrigerator. In fact, there was even a silver tray on the bar, containing a large bottle of Belvedere vodka, Martini & Rossi extra dry vermouth, and a jar of pickled cocktail onions. Next to the tray was a hand written note card:

"Time to see how the other half lives. Told you you should have gone Wall Street. Cheers!"

I put the card back on the table. Friend though he was, he was still an egotistical prick. Still, I wasn't going to let decades of history sully the moment. Looking at the clock on the kitchen wall, I could see that it was 1:15. Legal cocktail time! I found a shaker, got some ice, and prepared an extra-large batch of Martinis: the assignment could wait until tomorrow. I took my drinks and headed for the porch.

Sitting down in one of those Adirondack chairs that come with every vacation home, I poured my Martini, and took in the view. It was about halfway through my second drink when I detected some movement; not surprising in that foxes are hard wired that way- any kind of movement catches our attention. It was the neighbor to the left, giving a friendly wave. By the time I turn to return the wave, they were gone. By the time the sun went down, I was feeling both the drinks, and the effects of the heat, and the day of travel. I didn't even bother to eat, instead catching the evening news, and going directly to bed.

The next was glorious! Between the breeze, the salt air, and a decent night's sleep, I was invigorated. Feeling hungry, I got up and made bacon, eggs and coffee. I finished breakfast in short order, and decided to take my coffee on the porch. Hardly had I made it outside, and I saw her, the neighbor next door. She was standing at the edge of the ocean, her back to me. She dropped her robe, revealing the body of a young slender Saluki, wearing a tiny red bikini, which was all the more stunning against her pure white fur. I remember thinking how lucky I was, having this great house and a pretty neighbor as well.

By then I was experiencing more than a little guilt. I was here to write, and given the deadline, I'd need every single minute. So, I grabbed my laptop, and set up on the wrought iron table on the porch, and began to write. Mind you, this may have been a big project, a well-paying one, but it wasn't a difficult one. It was the sort of thing that I'd done for the last thirty years. Sitting down at the laptop, I began to pound out the article. The thing was, something wasn't right; my fox focus simply wasn't there. I was distracted, my mind wandering. Then, it came to me.

Looking up, my neighbor was back from her swim. Her swimsuit, sexy and revealing before, was even more so soaking wet. It clung to her tightly, showing every curve. Her top had slipped out of place, and when she adjusted it, I got a momentary flash of nipple. When she looked up and saw me on the porch, she smiled sweetly, and gave me the same big smile as the day before. She then picked up her robe, and headed into the house.

I tried to get back to writing. After a while, I did, after a fashion. By the end of the day, I had produced a few pages, barely half of my normal production. I closed the cover of the computer, and went inside to make a cocktail and cook dinner. I resolved that tomorrow would be better, and I went to bed.

It was a fitful and restless night. In spite of the perfect conditions, I found it hard to sleep. After catching a few hours, I looked up and realized that it was about the time I'd gotten up the day before. Throwing on a robe, I made coffee with one eye on the window. The minute the cup was full, I took it out on the porch.

And there she was. If anything, she was prettier that I had recalled. Again, she walked to the ocean, and dropped the sheer cover up to the sand. Today, she took the time to do some exercises and stretches, pulling her bottom back over her cheeks, as it had ridden up. Not that it made a lot of difference; it wasn't big enough to cover much anyway. Today, it was a green swimsuit, one that matched her green eyes. Then, she swam into the ocean.

With a sense of how long she swam, I got some productive work in before she returned. This time she seemed to linger. It looked as though she might be putting on a little show for me, her audience of one. Too soon, she was gone. I was left on the porch, with only my work, and her memory.

While I figured a way to do some writing, I was having more and more trouble dealing with my provocative neighbor. While I continued to be there for her morning swim, I'm afraid I became a bit, well, obsessive. I'd look for her around her house; I tried to figure out when she shopped, got the mail. Sometimes I would get to see her. She was a lovely clothed as she was mostly naked. She was slender in the extreme, of medium height, with no breast to speak of. Her face was long and elegant, and she had these incredible dark green bedroom eyes. She always wore these gauzy tops and skirts; semitransparent and loose, so loose that I'd sometimes see a flash of nipple, or the outline of her legs through her skirt.

And so it went. I got my job out at the last possible moment, and sent off to the publisher. If only they had known my torture! It was then that I realized that my summer was about to come to an end. I'd head for the city, and I'd never see her again. I'm shy, as foxes are prone to be, but if anything was going to overcome my shyness, it was the lovely creature next door. But, how do I approach her? After her swim? Too stalkerish. A phone call? I didn't have her number. I didn't even know her name. No, the only way was to knock on her door. I had to make a plan.

Around two that afternoon, I put on my clean pink oxford shirt, and my dressiest chinos, and walked to her front door. I knocked. After what seemed like forever, she opened the door.

"Well, hi, neighbor...."

"I've been here all summer, and it occurred to me that I hadn't even had the courtesy to introduce myself. I was wondering if I could remedy that by cooking you dinner tonight. "

She looked at me with those incredible bedroom eyes and smiled.

"I think I'd like that..."

"Seven, then?"

She nodded.

"I'll see you then...."

It occurred to me I still hadn't introduced myself.

She was there at my door, a bit after seven, wearing a loose tank top that matched her eyes, and one of those sheer skirts. I was making dinner, so I poured her some wine.

"It occurred to me that I've never asked your name"

"Destiny......"

The dinner flew by. We laughed, told our stories, and compared interests. We shared so much. Before I knew it, the evening was over.

"I've had so much fun, I hate to see it end. Perhaps a final walk on the beach?"

She smiled her consent. Grabbing a bottle of wine, two glasses, and blanket, we walked to the beach. We lay out under the night sky, laughed and drank the whole bottle. I turned toward her, to say something or other, when it happened. We kissed. Not a polite little peck; she took my head in her hands and had a full contact full embrace open mouth kiss. It was five minutes before I let go. A little out of breath, we both sat up.

"I ......have to see you again. Can I call you?"

"There's something you need to know about me..."

"I don't care, Destiny! We share so much......"

She smiled sadly.

"We share more than you think"

It was then that she took my hand, and slid her skirt up.

There was a penis.

"You can touch it. It won't hurt you. ..."

I gave it a tentative touch. Her warm redness was emerging from its sheath. Clearly she was as aroused as I was. She must have seen the question in my eyes.

"Not all of us get bodies that we should. I was born this way, but it never felt right. In time, I knew I had to be the woman I was"

"But......." I realized I was still touching her penis. She smiled.

"That? We've been together a long time. I kind of like it. Do I think of completing the change? Of course. Am I quite there yet? No."

This time, I took her in my arms, and kissed as we had minutes before.

I woke up the next morning in Destiny's bed. She brought coffee, and was kneeling over me in a little white cotton nightgown. Her bedroom was all brightness and light, just like Destiny herself.

I know what you're thinking. "Was that IT? Did you ever see her again?"

Truth is, we have. Destiny is a dancer, a ballerina; one of some reputation. Her art takes her all over the world. At the same time, my career has me traveling constantly, between pitching, promoting, and hawking new ideas, and I'm on the road a lot, too. It's how I deal with my crappy apartment. But, when we're both in, we see each other. We have this remarkable attraction to one another. I think we'd call it 'love' if we believed in the word.

That other thing? I think about it sometimes. I'm not sure what our relationship makes me. In the end, I've come to find that it doesn't really matter.