FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Is it in reverse?"

"Yes," he replied, tensely, whiskers a-twitch.

"Maybe you're not giving it enough gas?"

"Our truck doesn't run on gas." The mouse's voice was getting higher-pitched, even more than normal. He was tense, frustrated. They'd been headed home when it'd happened. Suddenly, without warning. On the wide-open country roads, on the transition from asphalt to gravel, he'd gone for a turn and slid on a patch of ice. And the snow-caked front wheels were now hovering on the edge of a small, little ditch. The back wheels, meanwhile, were still on the ice, so they didn't have the proper traction to back them out.

"Diesel is a gas, Field."

"Uh, no, it's a fuel," he insisted. He handed Adelaide his smart phone. "'Bing' it."

"I'm not 'Bing-ing' anything," she replied, rolling her eyes and shoving it back to her mate. "Just calm down."

The mouse squeaked and seethed, unable to take her advice as the truck shuddered, his foot-paw stepping on the pedal, arms twisting the wheel about. Whir-whir-whir! But they only became even more entrenched in their current spot.

"Gently back, gently forward, then harder back," the pink-furred bat advised. "Crawl it out of the rut."

"That's what I'm doing." He huffed. "It's not working," the golden-furred harvest mouse insisted, finally letting off the accelerator. He slumped back, clenching his jaw. "We're stuck." I've been driving in the snow for, what, fifteen years? I'm no stranger to blizzard-like conditions. I've never gotten stuck! I hate this. I hate ice. Fuck you, winter! There was a moment of silence, filled only by Field's ragged breathing and the light droning of the radio. Adelaide had set it to some holiday easy listening station after insisting Field's sports radio program was 'getting boring.' He swiveled his ears. Carol of the Bells? Silver Bells? Something with bells.

"Guess you're gonna have to get out and push," Adelaide finally said, only half-teasingly. She certainly wasn't going to do it. Field was physically stronger. He'd have more luck. Besides, she didn't like the cold anymore than he did.

"Why are you smiling?" He unbuckled his seatbelt. "This isn't funny." He checked to make sure his ear-mittens and tail-sock were secure. Not only was it snowing out there, it was below freezing. And not only that, but below zero! Well below. He checked the dashboard and whimpered. Eight below? Really? Fuck. And that was without the wind chill. "We shouldn't have gone into town to begin with."

"You had a prescheduled dentist appointment. You set it up six months ago."

"It was just a checkup ... " No cavities this time. Though the dentist had been concerned about one of the back molars. 'You may need work done on that next time we see you,' she'd advised.

"I also had to bulk mail all our Christmas cards and stock up on groceries for this 'polar vortex'." This weather was supposed to last at least a week. "And we both worked all day yesterday and were too tired to go last night." She had the day off, today, though. And, Field, who did a lot of seasonal agriculture and farming work, was helping on his parents' farm for the next few months, until the local orchard needed him again in the spring. But that was mostly in the afternoons. So, they'd gone into town very early. She'd shopped while Field got his checkup. "Besides, you hate driving at night."

"Headlights blind me," he mumbled. Probably a side effect from his photography years, all that looking into the sun, shooting into bright lights. Or maybe I'm just getting old? "You could've driven."

"I don't like driving in the snow," she said.

"Why not?"

"Cause I might get stuck," she jabbed.

He grumbled.

She giggled. "You still had the appointment. We were gonna have to be on the roads anyway. Eventually. Can't be hermits."

"We can try," the mouse insisted.

"Heh. Introvert," she accused.

"Extrovert," he countered.

"Look, what's done is done. Deal with it." A thoughtful pause. "It's not like you to get this mad."

"I know, I know," he sighed. "I'm sorry. And I'm not mad at you. I'm just ... " He squinted, looking out the windshield. A total whitewash. "I just wish it was summer." Eternal summer. Golden evenings. Fresh fruit and vegetables. Warmth. Freedom of movement. Maybe it would make things easier. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Life was never easy. "This is ridiculous."

"Having something for a limited time makes it more meaningful," the bat pointed out. "If it was summer all year long, you'd get sick of it."

"I don't think so."

"No?" she challenged.

"I have you all the time, and you mean as much to me as you ever have. I've never been tired of you." And she was comparable to summer, wasn't she? Bright, ripe, and very hot.

"Aw." The pink bat beamed, happily.

He blushed beneath his ear-mittens. "Anyway." A deep breath. "You ready? I'll get out and push." He put the truck in park so it wouldn't roll prematurely.

"Got it."

The mouse steeled himself. Deep breaths. Okay, okay. One, two, three!

He opened the driver's-side door, swinging his legs out and ducking his head. It was far too cold to go around in bare foot-paws, even with the protection of fur and pads. So, he was donning thick boots. They were uncomfortable but necessary. He trudged to the front of the truck, tail slightly weighted down by the woolen tube-sock that covered it. Hearing muffled by thick, woolen ear-mittens covering his sensitive, dishy lobes. He felt his whiskers stiffen as the cold nipped at them. The wind wasn't too bad. It was more a light breeze with sporadic gusts. But, still, it was cutting. And bitterly cold.

The snow kept falling and falling. For hours, now. It showed no signs of slowing. He planted his gloved paws on the front of the truck, between the yellowish headlights, and dug his booted foot-paws into the snow, waiting for Adelaide to put the truck back in reverse.

She did, and he pushed, grunting and shoving and squeezing his eyes shut. The tires spun, kicking up a fine, powdery dust. WHIR! Slip-slip-slip! The vehicle rocked a bit, went back a few inches, a few more. Maybe I got it! Almost! Come on! But, no, the back tires only widened the icy groove they were trapped in. And the front pair was hovering even further over the stupid little ditch. He couldn't clear it. Another push. Nothing. Nope. Maybe if there were two or three furs pushing? And maybe not even then. His breath billowed vaporously around him. Even with the protective layers, he couldn't feel his fingertips or his nose anymore. He'd only been out here a few minutes! He gave up and scurried to the passenger side of the car and got in, slamming the door shut.

"Ah, ah-h, so c-cold ... oh, my god. Oh, my. Oh. Guh," he mumbled frantically, shivering and shaking his head, placing his gloves paws on the air vents. Trying to soak up as much warmth as possible.

"So, what should we do?" Adelaide eventually asked, wing-arms retracting from the steering wheel and falling to her sides. She had a winter coat on, herself, tailored to accommodate her wing-arms, and a stylish toboggan hat between her sweeping ears.

"We'll just have to call my parents." His whiskers twitched. He imagined icicles tumbling off them. "Dad can come in the tractor, pull us out." He took off his gloves and turned on the heat to setting five, the highest setting, then fumbled inside his coat pockets for his smart phone. Yanking off his ear-mittens, one by one, as he rang them, still breathing heavily from the exertion of trying to dislodge the truck. Not to mention the shock of the Arctic-like air. "Yeah. It's me," he said as someone answered. His mother. "I'm fine. Well ... actually, we got stuck."

"We? You," Adelaide stressed, "got stuck."

"We're both in the truck," Field whispered back to her.

"Technically, yes. But I wasn't the one driving."

"And your reaction times would be any faster than mine?" he questioned.

"Just because I don't have fully-formed paws doesn't mean I'm a bad ... "

"No, that's Adelaide," Field told his mother, waving a paw at his mate to be quiet. "Yeah. No, we're not arguing." A pause, wrinkling his muzzle. "You're glad we're finally out of our 'honeymoon' phase," he echoed. "I didn't notice it lasted so long, no. Years, huh? That's not natural?" He rolled his eyes. "Yeah." He looked to his mate again. "Mom says hi."

"Hello," Adelaide said back, raising her voice so Field's mother could hear. She grinned toothily and added, in a sultry tone, "Your son's doing a very, very, good job keeping me toasty!"

"Adelaide," Field mouthed. He made a face and then spoke into the phone, again. "Yeah, we have plenty of heat." A deadpan pause. Blushing beneath his fur. "No, it's coming from the engine. Yes, mom. It's still running."

The bat chittered with mirth.

"Look, we're stuck, and I already tried pushing us out. We really need to get a pull." Or a tow. Whatever. "Can dad bring the tractor and a chain? Is he home? Yeah. We're only a mile or so from our house. A few miles more from yours. On, uh, 800 North and County Line. Uh-huh." They were likely to get buried if they weren't pulled free soon. "And when he's done, he can escort us home." He skipped a beat and added, "Please?"

Adelaide glanced out the window as Field talked. Visibility was extremely low. It had been before. But it was just getting worse. But in spite of the hassle this weather caused, there was something beautifully humbling about such conditions. The starkness, the simplicity. Experiencing this would only make spring more cathartic. You couldn't have light without dark.

"Thanks. Yeah. Okay. See you later." Field put his phone down and blew out a breath. "Problem solved. He'll come and get us out. It'll be at least half an hour, though, by the time he bundles up and gets the chain and tractor ready and reaches us. Maybe forty minutes. He's always late."

"What was that about 'honeymoon phase'?" Adelaide asked, curiously.

The harvest mouse made a face. He hesitated but told her, "Mom thinks we used to be too 'lovey-dovey.' She's glad we're 'settling down' and 'acting our age.' It's long overdue, she says."

"Heh." Adelaide shook her head. "Settling down? Into what?"

"I dunno." They'd been mated almost nine years, now. That was coming up on a full decade! Hard to believe. And, yet, he couldn't remember what things were like before her. Meeting her was the Big Bang of his adult life.

"Your parents have always viewed me as some kind of vampire succubus or something. Feeding off your sexual energy." She paused. Though, actually, that didn't sound half-bad ...

"Yeah, and you like to goad them about it and play the part."

"If they can't take a joke, that's their problem."

"They've accepted you by now. Honestly," he insisted.

"It took way too long," she replied.

"I know." He softened. "I'm sorry! Look, I don't care what they think, and I never have." Not entirely, anyway. "But they're still my family. I still ... you know." He cleared his throat. "Love them." He did. It just wasn't easy to say. Certainly not as easy as telling Adelaide he loved her. Why was that?

"I understand." She took a breath before adding, "I just wish my family wasn't out of state. Then they could balance yours out."

"Well, your parents have lived all over. I mean, you were born in Australia," he reminded. "You and your, uh ... roost?"

"Mm-hmm," she confirmed, nodding.

"They've been exposed to more, culturally. They're more worldly and open-minded. My family's been mired in rural Indiana for three or four generations." And, now, so was he. Not that he hated it. There was a lot to like. And, generally, he was happy here. And Adelaide seemed to be. She never complained about the environment. Just, sometimes, the furs who lived in it. But no place was perfect, right? There was no Shangri-La. Paradise was a state of mind. Or was that idealistic claptrap?

Adelaide nodded. She didn't remember much of her childhood overseas. Just bits and pieces. They'd moved back to America before she'd reached schooling age.

The mouse's whiskers twitched. His expression softening. "Why is the honeymoon over? Why would mom say that?" A twitch. "I mean, okay, I guess we rib each other now more than we used to," he admitted.

"You snap at me, sometimes," Adelaide added.

"Like when?" He blinked.

"Like the whole diesel thing earlier."

"That wasn't a 'thing.' It was just the facts." A pause. "Alright, maybe we don't agree on everything like we used to." He remembered back when he'd bend over backwards to accommodate her, and she'd coddle him in return.

"We egg each other on," the bat continued, adding to the list.

"Wait, who does the egging? I'm pretty sure it's you. And you've done that from day one."

"Ah! By design, mousey. See, I fluster you up so badly that you need calmed down. And, then, I calm you down." A toothy grin. "Sexually."

He flushed, blue-grey eyes darting. "Well ... "

"I'm the cause and the cure," she emphasized. "It's like a sensual causality loop. And we both end up satisfied! Win-win." It was genius, really.

"Hmm." He couldn't really argue against that! So, 'egging' was a positive. But, still. Their relationship had changed. That couldn't be denied. "How else are we different from the early days?"

"You used to ask me before you moved my things. Now, you just move them."

"I like our house to be extra-tidy," he insisted, squeakily.

"It's annoying. What if I moved your things?"

"They're never out of place, so they never have to be," he replied, smartly. Crossing his arms.

The bat harrumphed.

"Also, you used to pretend to be interested in my hobbies. Like the sports I follow. Now you just tune me out when I talk about them."

"I like auto racing. The rest I can do without," she elaborated.

"Mm."

"Being mated doesn't mean we have to be interested in all the same things."

"I never said it did," Field told her.

"Oh, I got one," she said, thinking of another. "You don't say 'thank you' after I let you screw me."

"I beg your pardon?" he squeaked.

"You used to thank me every time you got laid," she said.

"What? I, uh, still thank you," he muttered, bashfully. Don't I? He had to think for a moment. "I try! Anyway, do you thank me?"

"You get pussy. That's thanks enough," she ribbed. Then, more seriously, admitted, "It's possible we take each other for granted after so long together. I guess that's what happens to couples. They get ... " She searched for the right word. "Acclimatized."

"Ugh. That sounds so ... bad." He made a worried face. He bit his lip. "Mm. I don't want us to be 'acclimatized'."

"It's not so terrible, mousey." A reassuring smile. "We know each other inside and out by now. So, with all our foibles and quirks on display, we can guess each other's responses before they're made. Anticipate each other's desires. Accommodate each other better. We're a little more realistic, a little less starry-eyed. But maturity is a good thing."

"You're right," he replied quietly, slipping a paw to her wing-tip, clutching at her big, elongated thumb-digit. Giving her a warm, tender look before asking, somewhat self-consciously, "So, uh, you don't think I'm getting boring?"

"What?"

"Boring. Like ... not interesting." A pause, looking down. "I mean, if we know each other so well, maybe I'll start to feel plain to you. I'm not as 'new' or 'fresh' as I was when you met me."

"Why do you say that?"

"I dunno." A sigh, lifting his head again. "I mean, I used to have more goals, more dreams. Now, I never take any huge risks. I don't drink or get high. I don't travel." His mother had said she was glad they were over their 'honeymoon phase.' Well, they hadn't even had an actual honeymoon! They hadn't been able to afford to go anywhere. Except to bed. He cleared his throat. Still a fun trip, though ...

"I don't do any of those things, either. Am I boring?" the bat countered. "Are you tired of me?"

"Of course not!" he insisted, quickly.

"Then why would I be tired of you? I thought we just went over this." She tilted her head, conical, cotton candy ears swiveling slightly. Field, being an obsessive over-thinker, had a tendency to circle around to the same topics over and over.

"We did." He took a slow breath. "I just feel like there's an expectation, for males especially, that masculinity is tied to 'action.' To large experiences. And I don't really do anything other than, you know ... live day to day. Simply. Anonymously." A short breath. "Maybe if you'd mated some dashing, go-getting predator ... "

"Nonsense." She'd 'tried' some predators, for sure. More than a few. Back in the day. But, aside from not caring for the endless arsenal of knots and barbs and assorted accessories, none of them been secure enough in their masculinity to allow her to fully dominate them. They'd play at submissive, sure, but it wasn't genuine, and they couldn't maintain it. Field's desire to submit to her was pure. That's what she liked. That's what she wanted. Plus, he was sweet and gentle. And, also, rodents had huge balls. And they weren't just for show! "Life isn't the movies," she reminded.

"I know that."

"What I'm saying is: that's what most furs do. Live anonymously. Without fanfare. Cause, really, in the grand scheme of the planet, the galaxy, or even the universe ... "

"Multi-verse," he corrected, geekily.

"Well, compared to all that's out there?" she amended with a smile. "None of us are as large as we like to think. We're just ... " She shook her head, trailing off. It was hard to fathom, sometimes. The true scope of things? It was almost terrifying, really. But it put one's problems in perspective. "As long as you have someone with you for the journey that you really connect with, that you really love ... "

"Hash-tag blessed," the mouse randomly quipped.

"Heh! Something like that."

He let his paw stray into her unzipped coat, up her wing-arm, tracing one of the sturdy, bony struts, then veering across the velvety membranes in between them. They were loose and folded right now, what with her arms closer to her sides. "I want to paint you," he murmured, suddenly.

"Hmm?" she went.

"In the spring, when it's warmer, I want to get a big canvas and ... just paint you."

"What brought this on?"

"I used to be an artist," he lamented.

"You still are. You don't have to make money off your art to be considered one," she insisted.

"Yeah, but ... " When he was younger, he'd taken thousands of pictures, written hundreds of stories. Painted. Even done some woodworking. "I've drifted away from all that. I guess that's only natural. Work, time. Resources. Inspiration." A pause. Not to mention energy. "Everything's finite. And, also, what I used to express with my art I now express with you, instead ... " I guess, in a way, that's still art. Performance art! Right? He smiled to himself. Not a bad trade-off. "You've become my canvas."

"Does that mean I'm your muse?" He'd told her that before, of course. Many times. But she never tired of hearing it. The bat wasn't averse to flattery.

"Mm-hmm."

"So, I'm gonna be one your 'French girls', now?"

"You're the only girl I've ever had," he replied, dreamily. She'd claimed his virginity.

"I know," she assured him. Her ego took great pride and pleasure in that fact. But she knew that, in another week, the mouse's desire to paint her would fade. He'd likely never get around to doing it. It was more the notion that made him swoon. The idea. Thinkers and romantics were like that, she'd found. Possibilities sparked them on more than reality.

He leaned in for another nose-nuzzle, which turned into a whisker-tangling kiss. A brief one. Then lengthening into something deep and hungry. And wet. Ending with a lip-smacking twist. Their vivid gold and pink muzzles hovering against each other, breaths mixing headily.

"I'm sorry I was snapping when we got stuck," he mumbled. "I really am ... "

"It's okay, love." The bat leaned back, licking her lips and gazing back out at the brutally cold winter wonderland. It was only mid-December. I wonder what January is going to be like? She shivered at the thought. "At least it finally feels like the holidays. With the snow and all that. White Christmas." A pause. "Who sung that? Frank Sinatra?"

"Bing Crosby." The mouse had an excellent pop culture recall.

"Shall I 'Bing' that one, as well?" she razzed.

He laughed, brightly. That sounded like a joke he'd make. But it was a good one! "Mm." A pause. And a sudden look of annoyance. "Did I tell you what my relatives are doing for Christmas? What we're doing?"

"No." She squinted, suspiciously.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean?" She shook her head. "Aren't we going over there? To your grandparents' house?" the bat asked. That's what they normally did. A big, sprawling gathering of harvest mouses. It was some kind of adorable when there were so many in the same place, she had to admit. But even cuteness had its limits. And she normally overdosed after an hour or so.

"Yeah, but there's not gonna be a big 'to do.' I guess my grandparents were bickering about who had a worse childhood during the Great Depression, and started sniping at each other. My grandfather insisted my grandmother was a 'townie' and didn't know how bad it was for a country mouse like him. That he had nothing except his ears and tail and the clothes on his back. And, then, my aunts and uncles chimed in about how 'Christmas just isn't like it used to be, is it' and how all the old values were changing." He rolled his eyes. "So, it was randomly decided we'd have a 'Depression Era Christmas.' With breakfast for lunch. And no gift giving."

Adelaide laughed. Loudly.

"I know, right?" Field continued, incredulously. "So stupid. They realize this is a major holiday? Maybe the biggest one of them all? It's not against the law to, oh, actually fucking celebrate it." Growing up, Christmas trumped all the other holidays ten times over. He'd always looked forward to it. Why were his relatives trying to neuter it?

"That's just like them. No offense Field, but when mouses get stubborn, they get stubborn-ass stubborn."

"Yeah, well ... at least I'm cute when I'm stubborn." A sweet, little smile. "Right?"

"Occasionally," she allowed, trying not to smile back. "Also, that's something else that's changed."

"Mm?" He blinked.

"You never used to curse."

"I picked up that habit from you, though," he accused. The bat often cursed during sex. When she came, especially. He blushed deeply.

"Mm-hmm." A chuckle. "It doesn't surprise me, though. About your relatives. I've noticed a distinct lack of energy with your family lately. Like, they're all so ... subdued anymore. Not your siblings or younger cousins. They're cool. And even your parents aren't that bad. But everyone else?"

"I've noticed, too." He nodded. "I mean, I know grandmother broke her hip last year, and grandfather doesn't move around well, either. But you can be old and happy. Can't you? They're only 82."

"Only ... "

"Well, look at my great-uncle out in Seattle. He's 93 and still goes to baseball games and has a pilot's license!" A pause. "When you think about it, he's spent more of his life being over sixty than he spent being under thirty." The mouse shook his head. "That's crazy." He wondered if he and Adelaide would spend more of their mate-ship with grey fur than gold and pink? "But he's so enthusiastic. Longevity isn't just about physical health. It's also a mindset. A positive, adaptive outlook," he decided with a nod.

"Your family here in Indiana is very conservative. And your aunts and uncles are so reserved because it's been passed on from the generation above. They're stuck in a cycle of learned behavior. Whereas all your relatives elsewhere, in other states, are more liberal and less stuck in their ways. And tend to be more rigorous."

"Yeah," the mouse mumbled. "Probably." He stared out the window. "I just hope I've escaped all that." He bit his lower lip. "But I've been keenly aware of furs aging. Myself aging," he said, quietly. "My mother gets dizzy and falls sometimes, you know that? And her mother died of dementia ... " Earlier in the year. His whiskers twitched. "I wonder if I'll lose my mind, too." That was one of his greatest fears. It wasn't a pleasant way to go. "I wouldn't want to put you through that ... "

"Field, don't worry about it," the bat advised, gently. "Alright? We're still young. That's decades off, if it even happens at all. And I'm sure it won't. You can't spend every second of every day worrying about things. There's only so much we can control."

"I know." He used to be a major worrier. Constantly anxious, to the point of tears. Time, experience, and medication from his doctor, not to mention Adelaide's love, had calmed him down a great deal. He was better. But he still had his flare-ups, his sudden moments of feral fear. And always would. I'm a mouse. I'm prey. It comes with the territory. "Just promise me we won't throw 'Depression Era' Christmases' when we're older," he asked his mate. "We'll celebrate 'til we can't draw breath to do so."

"Party hard? What'll that involve, exactly?"

"Well ... um, things," he said, shyly. He nodded. Yes. Things.

"Things?" she echoed, raising a pink brow. "Oh, my. And you thought you were boring," the bat teased, brushing a wing-arm against his cheek.

Field's turn to laugh.

The bat leaned toward him, and they nuzzled noses affectionately.

Anticipating another kiss, he tilted his head.

She initiated one.

Suckle, suckle, smack!

"Mm ... "

Slumping back in the driver's seat once more, the bat thought a moment. "So, is your immediate family gift-giving at least? Your siblings and parents?"

"Yeah, we're still doing it between ourselves. Just not with the wider group of relatives."

She nodded distractedly, memories flooding her. "Growing up, for me, Christmas was always lots of games and alcohol. Heh. And gift-giving, yeah." A chitter. "But mainly a lot of drunk bats playing charades."

He giggle-squeaked. "No doubt echo-bursting their way blindly through the hallways so they don't stumble into walls?" He reveled in the unbearable cuteness of the image.

"I used to drink," Adelaide continued. "But it's a social thing, and you don't drink. And Ketchy doesn't drink," she said, of her squirrel friend and co-worker at the town library. "Having no one to do it with anymore, it sorta lost its appeal." Plus, she didn't recover from it as quickly as she did when she was a teenager. "But I still remember those holidays. New Year's, too. Always stayed up for that. Everything used to be a big deal, you know?"

"Yeah. I was just thinking that, myself. I guess when you're younger, there's more magic to the holidays. There's an aura. They seem more like milestones. When you're older, well, they just blur into the rest of the calendar. Days upon days. Flares instead of fires."

She blew out a breath, her fangs showing. "I'll have to call my parents this week. I should really call them more often."

"They're always keeping so busy, though," he remembered. He rarely saw them more than once a year. Adelaide was their only child. But they seemed to enjoy their independence. They loved being 'empty nesters.'

"Mm-hmm. They're pretty flighty." Many bats were like that. Restless. Always needing something new to wrap their wings around, to sink their teeth into. Was that why Field had been worried I might find him boring? "Dad said they might come for a week or two around May."

"They should go to the 500 with us!" he squeaked excitedly. He loved indoctrinating furs into racing. It was much, much different in person than on television.

"I suggested it. He said he'd think about it." A pause. "They want to move again."

"What? How do they even afford that?" He didn't view Adelaide's parents as being particularly rich. Sure, they had more money than Field's parents, but still.

"Investments, mostly. When they did all that globe trotting work when I was born, they made a lot. Saved most of it."

"Where do they want to go?" he asked.

"Who knows. Dad's always got a new place in mind. Sky is always bluer, as they say."

"Thought that was grass. And greener."

"With bats, it's the sky," she insisted. "You've heard me use that phrase before, haven't you?"

Field nodded.

"Speaking of parties, maybe we should have our own on Christmas," she declared.

"No, we have to go over to my grandparents'. We'd never hear the end of it if we didn't. Believe me." The mouse shook his big-eared head.

"I meant in the evening." She stretched and chittered, smiling as she planned it all out. "We can invite Ketchy and Kody over. Have some treats. Which you can bake," she told him.

"Thanks," he said, dryly.

"Well, with your dairy allergies, you'll want to make something you can eat. Best you do it. Then we can play some games. Watch a movie. Chatter and all that. It'll be fun!"

He smiled at his mate's enthusiasm. "Could be, yeah. I haven't really seen either of them in a while." Ketchy was nice. A fellow rodent. They were on the same wavelength. Kody, her mate, was a rabbit. And he was, uh ... well. Rabbit-y. "I never quite know how to talk with Kody, though."

"Why?"

"He calls me 'bro'. 'Hey, bro, what's up? How you doing'?"

"Heh. He's not as sensitive as you are. He can be a bit, uh ... " She wanted to say 'basic.' But that sounded a little mean. "He's really good to Ketchy." And Ketchy was her best friend. "They're fun furs."

"I know. I said I'm fine with inviting them," the mouse repeated.

"So, it's settled? I choose the movie, though," the bat said.

Field made a suck-jaw face.

"No art films. I want to be entertained."

"Fine, fine ... "

"Good. That's settled." She looked at him, intently. "So ... ?"

"So ... what?" he asked with confusion. What'd he miss?

"What are you getting me for Christmas?"

"I'm not telling!" the mouse defended, pulling back. "You'll have to wait."

"Can't I guess?"

"Why would you want to? It wouldn't be a surprise if you knew." He'd always found it hard shopping for others. One, because he never had much money to spend. And, two, because not everyone was as obsessive compulsive about their interests as him. Adelaide didn't really collect anything en masse like he did. She didn't really care about toys or trinkets. Or memorabilia. She liked more transient things. Foods. Clothes. Music.

"You got me ... well, more than one thing, I bet? Erotic bra and panties, perhaps? Diamond earrings?"

The mouse fidgeted.

"No, not diamonds. Some other stone ... "

"Adelaide," he warned.

"What about candy? Is that one of the things? Chocolate?" A pause. "Caramels? Cherry cordials?"

He bit his tongue, betraying nothing. I'm not going to break! Only telling her, matter-of-factly, "Why would you even need sweets when you have hot butterscotch every day?"

"Ha, ha! Right ... " Her sugarplum-purple eyes sparkled. "So," she drawled, steamily, "you, naked beneath the Christmas tree, with a big, shiny bow between your ears. Candy canes dangling from your tail." A slow exhale. "And something special down below. Am I getting warm or cold?"

"We, uh ... " He cleared his throat, discreetly moving his discarded gloves over his lap. "We don't have a Christmas tree."

"All the more reason to get one," she murred.

He gulped.

"Poor mouse. What's the matter? I bet you're blushing underneath those ear-mittens," she continued. "How about you take them off ... "

"Off?" he repeated, shyly.

"Mm-hmm ... "

He reached up, slowly, and slid the coverings off his lobes. Sure enough, they were bright pink with blood.

"Ooh. Bet those are getting really sensitive," she observed.

He just bit his lower lip in response, continuing to say nothing.

She reached out, brushing a wing-tip against a lobe. Tracing the curve. "You know, I think I deserve an early present. I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Y-yeah ... " He knew where this was going. And his breath began to quicken. And, oh, his ears. Oh, gosh! He tilted his head toward her, helplessly.

She giggled. It was fairly easy to seduce a mouse. They had so many weak spots. So endearing. She kept rubbing and fondling those thin, fleshy dishes. Then wormed her tongue out. And slithered it around and around. And, eventually, toward an ear canal.

Field gasped.

"You're my present, but you're still wrapped," she whispered into that ear. Huskily. "Seems unfair. So, how about you take off those clothes."

He pulled his head back. It took an incredible amount of willpower, but he somehow did it. Teasing was one thing. But actually ... well, doing it? Here? In the truck? His innate conservative nature resurfaced. "But ... we're, uh, on a public road."

"That's lightly-traveled, even on a good day. I haven't seen a single car or truck besides ours since we got stuck." She gestured her wing-arm at the outside world. White. With hazy, dead-looking trees veining into the grey. And endless stretches of harvested corn and soybean fields.

"B-but ... I mean, what if someone does? And what if they stop to help us? There are windows everywhere! Not to mention my dad's coming in the tractor to pull us out."

She leaned back, impatiently. "Didn't you say it'd be forty minutes? Ten, fifteen minutes ago?" Or something. "That leaves us plenty of time." She wouldn't need long. Sometimes, a quickie fit the bill.

"It's ... I mean, there's no room in here. It's so cramped." He looked around, bewilderedly.

"Hasn't stopped us before," she continued, not letting him off the hook. She knew he wanted to do it. His ears were throbbing! She felt them pulsing when she'd tongued them. And, though it wasn't visible, she knew he was erect. There was no doubt in her mind. She'd seen him relocate his gloves. He was just being stubbornly modest. But when his arousal level eclipsed that modesty? He'd give in. Always did.

"Well, yeah, but it wasn't ten below zero outside before. We had the windows down and the doors open. And were parked near a woods ... "

"Fine, I'll masturbate, then," she interrupted, calling his bluff. "I guess you'll just have to watch."

His eyes went comically wide.

Already, she was disrobing, squirming in her seat, writhing and stretching her wing-arms. A twist. A push. She lifted the side-lever to her chair and scooted the whole thing back, reclining it, as well, which gave her legs more room to, uh ... spread out. Bending her knees, she kicked off her boots and planted her bare foot-paws on either side of the steering wheel as she worked her jeans off her body. Her fur was so lusciously pink. Watermelon, bubble gum. Everything sweet and colorful. He wanted to put his mouth on her. All over. Nibble her up.

Field was panting, now. Watching raptly. He tugged at his collar.

"Mm-h," the bat moaned as she tugged at her panties, now. Inching them down her thighs. "That's better ... "

The mouse sat up straighter, basking in her nakedness. The fur. So soft. So familiar. So perfect. Thicker and tufted at the loins. And, between those thighs, her petals, forming a tropical island of pouting, puffy flesh, holding the promise of her flower, that slick, steamy passage. And that cute, budding pearl. Her entire feminine essence was displayed to him. And, Lord, he wanted it. He wanted it so badly his paws began to shake. Why ... why did she have to be so impulsive? He sucked air.

She began to thumb herself, rubbing her wingtip along her slit.

A squeak.

The bat gyrated her curvy hips.

Squirm!

She glanced over and saw that Field was finally wriggling out of his own pants. "That's it," she cooed, dominantly. "Let's see that cock ... "

He lifted his slender hips, slanting them. Pushing at his clothes. Desperately. Kicking his own boots off, pants were soon around his ankles. And then crumpled on the floor of the idling truck. He peeled his boxer-briefs back, his uniquely male organ bouncing upward, spryly. As pink, if not pinker, than his ears.

"Someone ventured out of their sheath," she noted.

He nodded, insistently. He'd left it minutes ago. Essence bobbing, twitching with blood, harder and harder, and beading pre at the tip. Average in length. But thicker than normal. Thick, yes, with those swollen rodent orbs tucked in right beneath. And he wanted her to have it! He gave her a submissive look, waiting for her tacit instructions.

She nodded her approval and simply stretched forward, easily leaning down toward his lap. Her tongue made another appearance. That tongue! Long, muscular. Designed for drinking nectar and catching bugs. It coiled around him like a snake.

"Ah ... ah-h!" His eyes fluttered.

And it squeezed!

Field, who had left his shirt and coat on, not to mention that tail-sock, was heaving for breath. He hunched forward, weakly, paws resting on her shoulders and upper back. Woolen-coated tail whipping at the dashboard.

The bat had only disrobed from the waist-down, as well. She wished her breasts were free, though. Make him suckle from them, one by one, while she rolled his sac around. She got wetter at the thought. Her tongue rippled around him as her bright-pink muzzle inched forward. Closer, closer. Opening wide. Her short, pearly-white fangs glistened with saliva.

Field watched as his shaft disappeared into her maw. The bat gave a suckle or two. Or three. And then began to bob.

"Oh-h, A ... Adelaide," he whined. Cause, really, what else could he do?

She didn't let up.

Completely beside himself, the mouse raised his muzzle to the roof and closed his now-dilated eyes. His nose sniffed incessantly. Her scent was beginning to fill the truck's interior like a perfume, mixing with his own.

She briefly pulled back to his tip, wriggling her tongue upon his most-sensitive glans. The underside, especially. That was his spot.

He tensed!

Adelaide let him 'suffer' and then slipped off with a slick 'pop' and panted, simply, "Tail." It was a command. An order. He knew better than to disobey it.

Field reached aside and yanked off the constricting tail-sock, leaving his long, ropy, and distinctly prehensile appendage exposed. And free. It nimbly threaded downward, under him. Under her. Disappearing between her thighs. The tip poked about, purposefully pressing at her clitoris before angling down. And, just like that, several inches of mouse-tail disappeared into her wet, waiting tunnel.

She licked at his shaft luxuriously while he inched his tail as deeply as he could inside her, wriggling it, yanking it back, and then jabbing it in. She chittered. "More," she breathed.

They arched, bumped, and grabbed at each other, just as madly and desperately as they had the night they'd taken their mating vows. All those years ago. For a few minutes, at least. Until she feared he may burst. She didn't want that. No, not yet. She pulled back and raised her head, giving him a hungry look. His tail wasn't enough.

He understood. Completely. And gave her a strong pull.

It took some maneuvering. They didn't have a lot of space to work with, but she managed to straddle his lap. Her ears were bent down by the truck's roof, and her head would bump into it now and then. But they could just manage. As long as they didn't get too wild, no one would get hurt. She buried her muzzle against his neck, beginning to grind against him.

He pushed back, angling himself.

The bat wrapped her wing-arms around her mate.

Without further delay, the mouse penetrated. An easy, simple thrust. Like a knife through butter. So smooth and simple. He hilted inside her feminine furnace. He lost his breath. It didn't matter how many thousands of times they'd done this. Those first few seconds were always magical. Spiritual. He felt blissfully buoyant, like he was suddenly, as before, as again, a part of her. So connected. He worked his paws beneath her shirt and coat and rubbed at her back-fur, up and down. Stroking. Panting as he let her take over.

And she did. The mouse may have been driving the truck, but it was her privilege to ride him. She slanted, dipped, lifted her hips. And bounced in his lap, lightly. Her furred rump slapping against his thighs, their pelts meshing. Their genitals so wet that they could hear the slickness. It only turned them on more. The bat stuck her tongue out and licked along his right ear. His scent was as strong as hers, now. "Mm-h ... "

He let his paws fall back into the open, to her rump. Fondling it, squeezing the cheeks. Helping her bounce. Lifting her. Letting her fall. Groping that plush, pink-furred ass, wishing for a moment that there was enough room to do her doggy-style, his fingers twirled about the fine, fancy ribbon that comprised her ever-present tail-bow. Usually some shade of purple. Which she wore tied or clipped to her tail-base. It was pretty. Always drew his eye to her behind. Maybe that was why she wore it?

"Mm. Mm-h, yeah," she continued, not hiding her satisfaction. Quickening her pace.

"Uh ... uh-h," Field grunted in response. Not very elegant. But he couldn't help it.

"Mm, that's it, m-mousey ... oh, damn ... right there ... "

He bumped upward, plowing along her upper wall.

She pressed down.

He kissed at her face, sloppily, getting saliva on her cheek-fur. "My bat," he mumbled, hips frantically countering her motions. "My ... oh, my batty ... "

She held to him, eyes rolling back as he drilled his penis against her most sensitive spot.

He moved his paws again, meanwhile. Releasing her rump. This time, segueing to her hips. But only one paw stayed there. The other restlessly went between their bodies, fingers idly fumbling at her clitoris.

She pulled her muzzle back, bumping it against his own. Eyes hazing as they looked just past him. "Fuck. F-field ... "

"Uh-n, Adelaide," he muttered back, hotly. "I love you ... "

"N-no ... no, Field," she panted, deliriously, lifting her muzzle a little higher. Through the back window of the truck, she could just make out headlights in the snowy, swirling distance. Company was on the way! "Tractor ... hurry ... " Even at its slow pace, they wouldn't have a minute or two before it got here.

Eyes snapping wide open, the mouse's humps became frantic. Fast, sharp. He drilled his mate. Just drilled her. It was maybe the fastest his hips had ever moved. Fifteen seconds later, he ejaculated. "Ah! AH ... oh, gah ... " Panting deliriously, paws shaking. Such a potent burst of pleasure. Intoxicating. Utterly. The fulfillment of a crazed roadside attraction.

"Y-y ... yes. Oh. Mm-f!" The bat's toes curled, and her breasts heaved. "Fuck." She felt her walls flutter. Lightly, at first. Then rolling, undulating spasms. Clenching, milking. Nectar dribbling out of her and onto the mouse's furry sac. Some of it trickling onto the seat. She went numb with pleasure. The newness of doing it inside the stranded truck, as well as the thrill of perhaps getting caught? Well, it only heightened the toothy bat's release. It was like a tidal wave had smashed into her and was sweeping her away. "Oh ... " She began to giggle, giddily. "I love you, too, mousey," she said, returning his interrupted sentiment.

They could hear the tractor now. Faintly. But getting louder.

She slumped back, rolling her neck around with lazy satisfaction. "Awesome," she slurred, sniffing at his fur. That scent. Mm-h.

"Y-yeah ... " He bumped noses, tenderly. She was right, of course. It had been awesome. It always was. But, unfortunately, they didn't have time to reflect on that! They didn't even have time to think! Twitching, the mouse quickly pulled out of her, wincing uncomfortably as his glistening, still-hard cock bobbled straight upright. Ouch! Too. Sensitive. He didn't want to move it. He wanted to rest it inside of her until it shrunk. He wanted to cuddle and nuzzle and whisper into her ear, continue exchanging confessions of adoration. Rivulets of excess semen slid down the shaft. He didn't even have time to clean it up! He was desperately pulling his boxer-briefs back on. And trying to shove his legs into his jeans. "Gah!" He thrashed about in a panic, limbs hitting windows, the dashboard. Even making contact with the ceiling.

" ... my panties. They're in the backseat," Adelaide mumbled, hazily. Clearly enjoying her afterglow more than Field. "I can't reach ... "

The mouse, still half-dressed, reached into the back and grabbed them out of a paper grocery sack. They'd wound up on a can of nuts. He wondered if that was funny as he flung them toward her and finished wriggled back into his clothes in near-record time, all zipped up and everything, panting hard and saying, "My ... my fur's matted with sweat, isn't it? That's going to look suspicious."

"He won't notice," she said, only now getting her panties up to her hips. Her short rudder-like tail pointed upward for a moment. And then pointed aside. Her bow had come a little loose during the act. "And, if he does, big deal. We had to keep warm, right?" she teased.

"Adelaide, come on!"

"Already did," she cooed. "Or didn't you feel that?"

He gave her a frazzled look.

"That was a compliment, Field." After all, he'd been responsible for it! The bat grinned. Getting her pants secure, now. She buttoned them up. "There," she said, tossing him his ear-mittens. "If you don't want your dad to get off the tractor and notice our disheveled state ... " Or worse yet, open the door and get a whiff of the heavily-scented air! "Beat him to it. Get out there and hook the chain to the truck hitch yourself. Then he can pull us out and we can get home."

"And take a shower," he added.

"Mm, yeah. Nice and steamy." Lots of nuzzling and swaying. "Maybe a few mugs of hot cider when we get out? Dry off in front of the pellet stove?"

He couldn't help but smile. A part of him swooned. "That sounds so romantic." The blue-painted tractor finally pulled up behind them, the headlights blinking on and off. "Alright, I'm out," Field said, all decked up again. He opened the door.

Before he got left, the bat said, remembering their earlier discussion, "Thank you, by the way. Really."

He beamed, happily. "No, thank you," he emphasized. He wished he had time to kiss her. Over and over. And then realized: hey, I'll be back in the truck in less than a minute. It's not like I'm leaving for a months long Arctic expedition! Have some perspective, Field. Good grief. But it was hard to see the forest through the trees when you were so attached to someone. Does that mean I'm still in the honeymoon phase after all?

"You're welcome. But," she added, shooing him out the door. Mostly so he would close it. She didn't want any part of that cold air! "This doesn't mean you can skimp for Christmas, Field. Just because I unwrapped you early ... "

"Luckily for you, I'm the gift that keeps on giving," he volleyed back, with a bucktoothed grin.

The pink bat laughed. "I'll hold you to that."

Blushing, the mouse shut the door and plunged into the blizzard. Waving to his father and pulling the heavy metal chain out of the tractor-scoop, he began to hook everything up. Thinking about that last promise as snowflakes clung to his fur. It made the world seem a little less cold.