FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

My fuel gauge began to get low at about the time my bladder began to get full; a happy coincidence I guess. I had managed the border and the long stretch of Hume through Southern New South Wales without major incident, except a guy in a Landcruiser towing a caravan trying to kill me. He didn't succeed, and I couldn't do much as the horn on my car had failed a couple of weeks before.

It was another one of the signs of my descent into apathy and then worse. The damn thing had begun to sound even when I didn't press it. I almost ended up in a full on brawl with an indignant lion one day, when we ended up at the lights together with my old rustbucket behind his brand new Alfa. As we waited out the lights my horn started to go off. Bleep. Bleeeeeeeeep. Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

The lion actually got out of his car, even when I held up my hands to show I wasn't doing anything. I didn't have the money for a garage to fix it properly, and I didn't have the wherewithal to actually do anything, so I had just hoped it would go away. It hadn't, now I was to get my reward.

The lion looked like he would swing, until I got out of the car. My bulk could intimidate easily, though I think it was my eyes that did it. I knew what they looked like in the mirror now, haunted, empty, zero fucks given. Whether I just stood there and took it or broke his motherfucking neck would have been a coin toss. He shook his head instead and stormed back to his buzzbox and floored it ignoring the horn blasts coming from more than just me now. I got back in my car after staring at the wolfess in the car behind. She looked worried, so I gave her a smile. Then she looked more worried.

I had finally got up the motivation to do something after that, but not much. I popped the hood and disconnected the horn. Nothing much lost; except as I passed Holbrook I wished to fuck I still had it when the Landcruiser tried to change lanes through me and I narrowly missed becoming another statistic. I gave him the bird instead and just drove on with gritted teeth. I think I kind of liked the distraction, something to focus rage and anger on other than myself.

When my bladder began to beg for release though, just as I approached Gundagai, I decided to take the turn off to the rest stop. Another childhood memory to expunge; the song kept running through my head.

Where the dog sits on the tuckerbox, five miles from Gundagai.

Well, I would finally get to visit the mutt if he was there.

It turned out he was, nice and bronze, on a bronze tuckerbox in front of a roadside diner five miles from Gundagai just as the song said. And a nice big service station to fill the car. I frowned wondering what to do about my lack of funds; along with the dodgy horn, my car had developed a wicked thirst that only a proper service would fix and I hadn't the funds for that. So I chewed petrol all the way here, and now I knew even with what I had left from my trucker cat I wouldn't make Sydney unless I did a splash and dash.

I patted the dog, ruffling his bronze head, as I decided what to do. It was then that I saw the same Landcruiser pull up at the service centre. Out popped the driver, a big bear, and his three cubs, all looking the spitting image of their dad. He marshalled them into the service centre; there were junk food outlets aplenty for the kids, and the oldest looked like he was put in charge of the two younger ones. I had been about to confront him about trying to kill me, but stopped when I saw the kids. Something about them drew me, and I left my car parked near the tuckerbox and headed in.

I soon realised what they reminded me of. It wasn't something I wanted to remember right then, but memory is a bastard at the best of times, a malicious motherfucking cunt, and it had lived up to that all the way along the highway. Not realising what I was doing, I took a seat at a table near the family and watched them, taking a vicarious pleasure in their easy intimacy.

I missed that, even though the memories were mixed. It reminded me of my time in a home like that, a time when I got to taste a little of what a normal life was. I managed to fuck that up like everything else, and now all I had was the memories.

The three boys laughed and joked with their dad, sharing the simple things a family do. I felt myself screwing up inside. My foster family had looked like that, and I had orbited round the edge, an uncertain presence not really fitting in. I remembered the day my caseworker first told me about it, and it seemed like a dream.

*****

"Danny, did you understand?"

Ms Chew watched me with tension in her every movement. I had been doing the foster home yo-yo now for a while, short term placements, respite care on weekends but nothing lasted. Always I ended up back here, back in the group home, but somehow Clay made that ok.

My older friend grew too, and now he was getting to the point where no more placements would be forthcoming. All he had to look forward to was ageing out of the system, to be tossed on the pavement with a guidebook and the state's best wishes. He knew it, and I did too, and I assumed my turn would come in the end. So I did my best, enjoyed what I could, and never let myself hope, or grow too attached to anything.

Except Clay. There I had failed.

After our first hesitant sexual experience on Christmas Eve, my friend took to sleeping in my room more often. With the warm bulk of my friend next to me, I found the nightmares didn't come so often. And instead, I found other unexpected joys that still left me troubled.

Clay led me there in easy stages, aware of how skittish I was. Another paw job, then gently placing my hand on his husky cock and enduring my clumsy fumbling to shudder and cry out in orgasm long after he brought me to the end. Then the day came when he went down on me and I lay back with eyes closed pretending it was my dun coloured mare Jen. She never felt like Clay did when she went down on me, but I tried hard to bring her to mind while my husky made love to my colthood, and brought me to shattering climax before we fell asleep cuddling. I knew I couldn't reciprocate, and he didn't force me, sensitive to my boundaries.

He had tried touching me on my hole, and I almost hit him before I managed to stop myself. He was hurt but not deterred, instead introducing me to something I could enjoy. On Easter Sunday, after we had gorged ourselves on stolen chocolate eggs, he lay me down and mounted my cock while I closed my eyes and shook like a leaf. Then I learned how to take charge, and our irregular nights together would begin and end with cuddling, but the middle saw me inside my mate exploring the depths of what our bodies could do together when I forgot I was supposed to be straight. I thought I still was.

So when Ms Chew asked me if I understood what was being proposed, I nodded, but I knew there were depths there she didn't know. And they made the whole thing far more marginal. Like a dick I said nothing.

"Yes Ms Chew...this family, why do they want someone like me though?"

"There are three boys already, around your age, one the same, one younger, one older. They feel they can take an older boy and make it work."

"What about Clay? Could they take him too?"

"No, there is only one placement Danny. And Clay is older again, he needs to focus on year 11 and his caseworker doesn't think a move at this time..."

I let her justify it, but I knew a bit of it too. Clay's last chance for a permanent placement collapsed for one reason only; a fling with the guy next door that was discovered by his good Christian carer. I think he had been searching for a little of what we had with someone who wasn't as broken as me. After that, Clay was 'unsuitable', and he returned morose and defeated. Through the waltz we performed back and forward to places in the system, all to the adagio rustle of paperwork in triplicate, I was his rock, as he was mine. Now I was leaving him adrift again.

He let me down easy when I told him.

"You have to take it horse. You'd be mad not to."

"I know but..."

"No buts! Now give me a farewell kiss you cunt."

I gave him more than that. Our sex that night had the desperate edge of a farewell, and even when we were both exhausted one or the other would get hard and grope the other and it was on again. He didn't cry. We never did.

And so I found myself in the unfamiliar surroundings of Brighton. Houses larger than anything I had seen. A swimming pool. Very high fences. And a canid family, Dobermans, with loving parents and three guys bouncy and full of life, all except the youngest though wary of this strange equine. The youngest guy Andy asked four questions to everyone else's one while I sat on the couch in the loungeroom that seemed bigger than my entire house growing up, and I sipped a Solo and tried not to get the furniture dirty. My bag had found a home in the spare room; my room now, my own new home. I didn't unpack; I had learned.

My first introduction to the new neighbourhood came all too soon. A Sunday afternoon in Brighton, and one of the brothers' group of friends that all went to the same private schools was hosting a pool party. My new parents made my eldest foster brother take me along, under duress, and I really didn't want to go but after the fuss my foster mother made, I knew I had to.

When we got there, I experienced the unsettling feeling of everyone watching and talking about me while being superficially polite. I played with my youngest brother and tried to stay in the background. Then the smirks, and the glances at my no-name brand board shorts began. I felt like a big ugly freak.

The problem began when the guys started on the beers. I had never experienced something like this party, which apparently was a regular affair rotating around available homes. No parents in sight, booze everywhere. I knew I could handle that at least, the sharp tang of beer feeling good in my throat. Some of the guys got pretty boozed though, and lost their filters, and their inhibitions. Eventually I became the object of their play.

At first it was just a couple of them trying to get me to join them in the pool. I declined, not wanting to get involved, and not wanting to take off my top and expose my scars to their curious gaze. I thought that would be the end of it, but they were in booze mode, and nobody is safe then, especially an unwanted interloper from the wrong part of town.

Suddenly, four of the guys grabbed me and tried to strip me and haul me into the pool while the girls laughed and cheered.

When I came to there was no laughing, no cheering, just screams and yelling. I was on the ground panting, and there was blood, and my shirt was gone, torn and on the ground. I saw the look of horror on my eldest foster brother, and the host screaming at me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I couldn't tell them. I had been away, with Him, when he did it to me, when I got the scars. And the older, stronger me fought back like a demon. The results were all around me, and they were not good. My nose was bleeding, and I had scratches in my coat and a pain in my guts, but I had given as well as I got. And my presence was no longer welcome.

Storming out the front door without thinking, I headed for the beach. I had seen it at the end of the street, something foreign to a colt from Ringwood. I wanted to escape and feel the sand under my hooves. Maybe if I kept trotting forever I would find somewhere I could rest.

My progress was interrupted by the police. A dazed looking equine with blood coming from his nose and no shirt, obviously in a fight, who it turned out couldn't remember his home phone number or the mobile of his foster parents. I was in the back of the patrol car before I could yell, and then I shut down, retreating to a place of safety inside my head until we got to the station and a date with the holding cell beckoned. Then I panicked.

I managed to get the crucial information out though, before I shut down.

"Detective Sergeant Renquist...call him, please..."

When the big bull came through the door I ran to him and held him in a hug. It took the grizzled officer off guard, and somehow in all the years of sex crimes he hadn't lost the ability to feel. He was worried, and when I managed to get it all out, he patted my mane and told me not to worry. I was beyond worry, but I assumed I had screwed it up for all time. It was just a matter of getting back to Clay, back to the home, and not into the juvenile justice system instead. As long as I didn't end up in juvie I didn't give a fuck.

That was my first major surprise.

When I got back to my foster home I headed straight to my room to pack my few things up and prepare to leave. When I got back downstairs, my foster parents were shocked by my preparations, and I realised they weren't about to send me away. I really did have a place, at least for now. If only I could mend the breach with my brothers.

It took a little time, but they eventually got over their fears of the big unpredictable equine that had parachuted into their perfect world. Even the eldest, Mitchell.

He had the room next to mine, and I would try not to make any noise so I didn't bother him. He was gay, that much I found out early on when one of his string of guys spent the night and I woke to the sound of them fucking at 3 am. It was erotic, hearing another couple like that, the sighs and groans and the voice begging for more. That was usually Mitch, he loved taking a big guy more than anything. I wondered what Clay and I had sounded like, and if he sounded as happy as Mitch.

It was comforting in a way. I relaxed, knowing that nothing I had done with Clay should matter here, unlike the good Christians who sent my husky away. As long as I kept my muzzle clean I could exist in this bizarre world of money and people would let me live. I found that harder than expected, and my new school proved my undoing many times. My reputation spread, and psychopony was it. Nobody wanted me around, especially the principal who tried several times to get me sent anywhere else.

My brothers closed ranks around me. Even my night terrors didn't seem to matter; one night Mitch padded into my room, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Bad dreams?"

"Yeah."

It seemed all I needed to say. He got into bed next to me and held me, like Clay had. Nothing sexual though, and for now that was much better. I needed a brother more than a lover, and it seemed I had found one then. I fell asleep feeling him holding me, the gentle swish of his Dobie tail against my legs the fondest memory I had.

*****

The family had packed up finally, the Dad buying his kids burgers and shakes before the headed back to the Landcruiser. I watched them go, envy in every line. The eldest caught me watching and gave me an odd look, I guess I must have seemed like a total mad horse. I gave him a thumbs up and headed for the bathroom, remembering my aching bladder. I still had to work out what to do next.

As I stood at the urinal and let my length drop and began to take a piss, I noticed the guy next to me. I knew when someone was staring, taking a good look. I had picked it up...well, I had picked up how to read the signs, while I was with my foster family. That was also a bad memory, almost the worst. I still had it though, and I knew the stag next to me was copping a good look at my horsehood. I gave it a long casual shake and a couple strokes as I finished, tucking it into my pants before turning to look at the stag. He was staring, and I caught him before he could look away. He blushed hard under the fur.

"Hey dude"

"H...hey"

"How's it going?"

I trotted casually to the sink, and my admirer followed. I could feel him taking the bait, sniffing the air. It was the way his ears twitched, the way his nose wrinkled. He was catching my scent, registering the smells of a young stallion. I knew what that looked like. I had seen it too many times, and learned how to make the running after those first few times when I thought I would bolt.

"Ahh good...heading North mate?" he was trying to remain calm, but I could see his hands shaking as he tried to wash them. I gave an amused nicker and dried my own hands on the towel.

"Yeah, Sydney, you?"

"Same, been in Albury overnight for work...how bout you?"

"Uni. Just going to see a mate." The lie came easily, and was close enough for what I needed. My petrol needs might just be met after all.

He played hard to get, and I amused myself seeing if he would make a break for it. We wandered back to his car, a nice solid Holden company car, and I reached out and just stroked the tip of his antlers. That was all it took.

We were back in the bathroom in no time, the last cubicle, and I made him sit on the can and unzip me. I had not retracted, so my length flopped out as soon as he pulled down my briefs, and he seemed stunned, unsure what to do. I guided his hand, then his muzzle, and soon I was buried in a warm deep place as he slurped on my length and cupped my balls with his hand. He was gentle, this stag, not squeezing just stroking the underside of my balls. It was kind of nice, but he wasn't doing much for me. I knew I would never cum if I didn't do something, and I didn't want to risk pissing him off. Instead I tried to remember my first time, when I learned what it felt like to have a stranger hunger for my body.

*****

It was 2 am and I couldn't sleep. That became a constant factor when I was 16. School went from bad to worse, thanks to one of my foster brothers' mates. He was an arsehole of the worst kind, and I ended up trying to deal with some of his worst tendencies, on behalf of a girl who he had terrorised. I tried to do it right, but ended up just decking him, and the cunt had got the police onto me. For the principal this was the answer to all his prayers. I was going to be shipped off to another school, one more suited to students with my "behavioural issues"

As if anticipating the worst I withdrew from my family. My bag was still packed, so when the time came, I could be gone in a minute. I should have known better than to want, than to feel. It was all just another mirage after all. My brothers noticed the change, the youngest taking it hardest. My foster parents whispered together and wondered what to do.

My nightmares came back with avengeance, and Mitch didn't come to hold me, as if sensing my desire for distance. Instead I would lie awake and listen to the voice in my head.

Worthless, useless, waste of life, pathetic no good no hope garbage colt...

Unable to take it any longer, I opened the window to my room and headed for the beach. It was warm, the breeze ruffling my coat and mane as I trotted along the sand. I kept running, looking up at the moon, not really running just moving for the sake of not staying still.

When I found the secluded toilet block, I had no idea what it could be. I just needed a piss, and it was there, convenient, nestled in a large patch of tee-tree bush. The lights were on outside, and the door was unlocked. It wasn't until I was well into my piss that I noticed all the writing on the stall wall.

I had heard about these places, but this was the first one I had found. And as I hastily beat a retreat, I ran straight into a feline coming the other way.

Once I had apologised profusely, I saw he was dressed like me, running shorts though he had a top and a pair of good runners on his hindpaws. A nice watch and a heart rate monitor hung from his wrists. He gave me a smile, and waved away my apologies.

I realised he was checking me out. I was practically naked I guess, and I felt vulnerable, but also something else. A warmth began to spread over me, the warmth that came from his look. He was a smallish guy, lean and not that tall, and I had reached a formidable bulk by now, tall, broad, enough to take on anyone. I didn't feel frightened, I felt...alive. His gaze was deferential, even submissive, but hungry.

In that moment I felt good. I felt as complete as I had since I was with Clay. This was pure sex, nothing emotional at all, but that was good in its own right. Someone wanted what I had to give. Someone wanted a part of me, at least the part I felt in control of. Sex.

I said very little, letting the cat take the lead. He complimented my commitment to running, and my body, and my scent. His hungry eyes roamed, and I gave him a show, doing some languid stretching exercises while he watched. Then I gave him a grin and asked him what he wanted. He laughed.

"I want you horsey. If you are into that...haven't got some boyfriend at uni with you who is going to come after me do you?"

"N...no..." one advantage I realised of my size. If he thought I was older, that was probably good. I was not strictly legal as it was in reality.

"Or some girl?"

I gave him a shy grin from behind my forelock.

"Just broke up with her. Kind of need...well, kind of need my balls drained, if you know what I mean?"

"Oh I do horsey...I do..."

Safely in the stall, he closed the door and dropped to his knees. I watched him, hands by my sides suddenly unsure. He knew what he was doing though, and he soon had his paws hooked into the waistband of my running shorts and inched them down my thighs.

He took his time, which was hot in itself. First he rubbed me through my briefs until my cock spread from my sheath and tented out the cotton, and he kept going until I was hard and my flare popped past the waistband and drooled. He wouldn't touch me directly though, not at first, just cupping my balls and stroking my shaft through the fabric until I was moaning and my tail swished rapidly in excitement.

When he pulled me free of my briefs I held my breath. He used his tongue to tease me, lapping at my flare and tasting my dripping precum before finally engulfing the head of my cock and slowly sliding down the shaft. I watched bug eyed as he kept going long past where Clay had to stop, until my medial disappeared into his muzzle. Then he slid all the way back and ran his tongue the full circumference of my flare. When he looked up at me the hunger burned bright. The hunger was that hottest thing of all.

He got in a rhythm, fondling my balls, bobbing on my length, jacking my sheath. Ever so slightly faster, ever so slightly harder with each minute, and I rested one hand on his head and ruffled his fur. He was purring, the effect driving me insane, and I knew I would have to cum soon.

"Mate I'm...slow down...I'm cumming...cumming..."

I expected him to stop, but he deep throated me instead and I unloaded into him, not caring any more whether he could cope or not. He took it all, still slurping down my length even when I stopped shooting and my flare tingled with the too-much feeling of post orgasmic sensitivity.

*****

"Oh yeah...oh yeah...I'm cumming...I'm cumming..."

I had hold of the deer's antlers, drawing him deeper, further down my cock until his chin knocked my balls. He had it all, choking a little but determined, and I let him off before bucking my hips and driving in again. I was so close now, thinking about that cat.

I let go of his antlers, to see what he would do. He didn't back off though, instead bobbing fast on my head just under the flare. I let out a stifled whinny and threw my head back. My tail thumped against my legs.

"Ohhhyeahhhhh..."

He tried to swallow it all but a stallion shoots more cum than most are prepared to take. He choked, then lost a big wad onto his lap then pulled his muzzle off and let me shoot into the air, long ropes of stallion cum coating the wall as he held my balls and looked on sort of dazed.

He told me I was the hottest he had had, and he slipped the 50 into my pocket like we agreed. I left the bathroom while he was still at the sink mopping cum off his company shirt.

I headed off without a backward glance, and made it back to my car. I could refill the tank and have enough to get anywhere I needed in Sydney now. At least that was taken care of.

As I sat in my car after filling up the other memories craved attention though, and I frowned as it all came back. I knew this was a bad idea, but in the end I had no choice.

The cat had slipped me a 20, and I was surprised back then, holding the plastic note as if it was some strange artefact. He told me to use it for beer, he knew how uni studs like me needed beer money. I had been introduced to a new dynamic, one that would prove as destructive as the beer. Selling my body for money, sex, admiration, even just comfort. In those minutes I mattered to that guy more than anyone on the planet, even if he was a hotshot lawyer banker master of the universe type. I needed that acceptance, and if I had to purchase it with my body, so be it. I was hooked.

From then on the quiet nights were not quiet for me, waking with the nightmares to banish them with a run, a casual encounter, maybe a blow, maybe a quick fuck in the tea-tree. Sometimes the same guy more than once, though the cat did stop after he ran into me on the train one morning in peak hour. I was in my school uniform, heading to the city for an excursion. He was in his uniform, nice charcoal grey Hugo Boss and an understated striped tie. His eyes bugged seeing me there, and I could see his brain churning as he realised his miscalculation. He got off at the next station, though I was pretty sure it wasn't his. He sprinted up the platform and barfed in a rubbish bin.

I enjoyed the beer, and the chance to buy myself presents. A new watch, a new iPod. My brothers didn't seem to twig that this was a problem; the rich and comfortable are maddening partly because they are so clueless. Doesn't everyone have all the gadgets they want? More than the money though was the sense of worth. Someone thought I was hot, and that would have to suffice for everything. It was all I had.

I tried to share my loot with Clay, heading to the group home one day after school. I had bought him a new t-shirt, with his favourite band on the front, and a nice big iTunes voucher so he could download a big load of tracks. He wasn't there though, and I got my first nasty shock.

Lost and alone, he had taken up with a new bunch of guys, older ones who he knew previously from another group home. They had been caught stealing cars, and for Clay the end looked certain. He was going into a different system, into detention, probably Malmesbury. I covered my guilt and shame in anger, but in the long dark watches of the night I knew who was to blame.

The guilt hurt less with a guy sucking my cock, and I went out most nights. I never had slept much anyway, so nobody noticed I was perpetually tired. I got careless though, and when one nice wolf guy suggested we go back to his nearby hotel I agreed with the promise of a quick 100 and a nicer place to fuck with no sand in my feathering.

The Coke he gave me tasted slightly strange, but I didn't think much of it. Not till I began to feel really really drowsy. He watched me then, fighting for consciousness with the big evil smirk on his muzzle. I woke, intermittently, while he was doing me. The pain would wake me up, and I would feel him, inside me, on me, his lips on my neck kissing like we were lovers, and he talked constantly, about how cute I was, how hot I felt, such a sweet little colt. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't focus on anything except the pain until I blacked out again.

When I woke it was in the car park under the hotel. My running shorts were torn, there was blood all over them and I was covered in scratches. I managed to stumble home, keeping to the paths through the tea-tree to avoid being seen. Mitch was home from uni, and when he saw me he went mental.

"Where the fuck have you been? We were worried sick!"

I collapsed into his arms, and he got me into the bathroom. I managed to find the shower and tried to get clean, but nothing would clean this away. He begged me to stop and call the cops, but I made him promise not to. I knew I would be taken away now for sure if I did, and I knew now I couldn't face that. His eyes told me how much he cared, maybe even loved me, even with the horror and the anger and the frustration there as well.

Greater love than most. He helped me patch my torn hole, and held me while I shook and then held me when I stopped shaking because I shut down too much for that. I was in control. I had this sorted.

Except I didn't. That was the first time I tried to kill myself, downing my foster mum's valium and a bottle of tequila on the beach. I really sucked at suicide, at least back then. And that shock finally drove the wedge between me and Mitch that persisted until I turned 18 and left, determined to make my own way without needing anyone. It was not my foster family who left me, it was I who left them, partly to save them from myself, and partly to save myself from the inevitability of pain when they woke up and realised I was a worthless piece of shit. So do the wheels of self-sabotage turn, and I was nothing if not good at it. I had plenty of practice. Hating your own existence is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

As I gritted my teeth and pulled out of Gundagai and back onto the highway I made one promise. This time I would do it right, when the time came. No more half measures. I was done.