Your Picture in my Mind
Reuben tells about something interesting that happened to him in the glorious days of his youth in 1990's San Francisco.
Your Picture in My Mind
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This is something I started writing ages ago, but over a couple days now, I've finally managed to kick it into something of a shape! There'll be more to this, too, I hope, and I do wish that you will find it an interesting read! Story writing aplenty here, and fun. *smiles* Talk about times of long past... do tell me how you think I did!
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A fond memory from my youth.
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"So is this the right direction?" I was starting to sound exasperated, surely, as I called behind the perky terrier bouncing ahead of me.
"Uh huh!"
"Are you sure?"
Jane glanced at me over her shoulder and smiled before her busy eyes checked the nearest street sign, and then she stopped, giving a contemplative rub of her chin while her tail wagged non-stop like before.
"I think we're about there...and I think we should go...hmmm...left..."
"Or right?" I questioned, feeling a bit of a chill appear under my chic scarf as soon as we had stopped again. "We were supposed to go to Palmer Street."
"Yes, I know, and this is Angel Street, and we should...we should... I think I remember that if we go through Walker Street, we should be there...and that's Walker Street!" she pointed at the sign, which I glanced at, then I let out a huff.
"Well if you say so..."
"Come on!" she waved her paw at me as she crossed the street with me in tow.
"Coming, coming!"
"I just hope we're not too late..." Jane mused.
"Well it's the opening of an exhibition, is there supposed to be much of programmed activity there?"
"Haven't you been to one before?" she sounded surprised.
Practically outraged.
"Nothing like this...only something like...like...ah...the local art club exhibiting at the town library..." I confessed.
"Well this will probably be a bit different!" she sounded cheerful and not condescending, which I had feared.
"No singing?" I asked.
"Singing?" she sounded puzzled.
"I seem to remember that there was always some kids singing there...possibly some girl playing the piano, too..."
"It's 1995, Reuben, not 1965," the terrier barked at me.
"I know, I know," I panted as we continued along the cold pavement.
"And this isn't Sweet Home Alabama, this is San Francisco!" she reminded me rather unnecessarily.
"I'm from Arizona!" I said.
"That's but a footnote!" she opined.
We came into a street corner and soon Jane was hopping on her footpaws and pointing at a sign like it was the most exciting discovery.
"PALMER STREET!" she yipped. "We made it!"
"Yeah," I said as I parked myself next to her, "but shall we go left or right now?"
"Well, the address was...uh..." she dug into her purse and soon took out the crumpled sheet of paper which she carefully folded open, "Palmer Street 105..."
"This way then," I waved my paw, "I think."
"Oh so now you're the man who does the map reading huh?" she looked at me accusingly as she was now the one who had to follow my longer strides, thank to feline legs.
"Even gay men can navigate," I replied.
"Where would I be without you?" Jane chuckled happily, even if she had to take a quick gallop to stand by my side again. She wound her small arm about mine and squeezed it, and I smiled to her.
"Lost and confused?" I suggested.
"Oh yes..." she murmured happily.
Jane was nice.
She'd been one of the first friends I made since I moved to San Francisco to study and to be an openly gay tiger, and she's been a lot of fun, she and her friends. They welcomed me right in...especially the gay ones, of course, and even Maud, her lesbian best friend as opposed to me, her gay best friend. Some fun had been had...and tonight Jane thought it'd be a fantastic idea that we'd go to a gallery opening which she said would be...just fantastic, really. She liked fantastic things, especially if they had a quality of _fabulousness_to them. I wasn't sure whether this counted as such, except that Jane was excited about the event.
It was cold, though, and I wasn't sure if we were quite in the right direction, but at least this was the right street. If we were going the wrong way, we could always backtrack and see what lay on the other end of the street. It couldn't have been that difficult.
"I wonder if Maud's there yet..." Jane mused.
"Probably, considering if we are as late as I think I am," I said. "Want me to check the time from my watch?"
"Stop fussing," she pawed on my arm, from shoulder to elbow, "I already told you, it's not like we are on a strict schedule!"
"But what if they're holding a speech there or something..."
"Then we'll sneak in," she suggested. "Or..."
I looked at her questioningly.
"Yes?"
"Or maybe you're just anxious to see Lafayette?"
If there wasn't a breeze blowing on my face, I bet I might've blushed a little. The lion and I had gone out a couple times recently and it'd been fun, but it hadn't gone anywhere, really, at least not yet. He was too busy pursuing his dreams of journalism and...well, I was working a lot, and I wasn't sure if we were really...I don't know what we were, really, considering his narcissistic streak...but what'd you expect from us, big cats?
"I didn't know he was coming," I answered after a pause that must've carried too much weight, because -
"Liar," she accused me.
"Really!" I yelped. I don't think I sounded very convincing, as if my surprise had sounded anything like surprising before, either.
"Hmmm..."
She could've passed for a cat with that purr.
"Well I don't know if he was coming or not," I said, "not for sure. You know he's a bit difficult to get hold to, since he's always going around doing stories and the like."
"I'm sure he'll be there!" she spoke up enthusiastically. "It's right up his alley!"
I was glad Maud wasn't here. She always loved using that term whenever she described how two men ought to be a perfect dating match, and the way she said it...she got way too much pleasure out of it...talking about dark alleys...back passages...
"Really now - "
"Ohhhh I think we're almost there!" she cut me off.
She pointed excitedly at a glass front some paces away, brightly lit unlike the shops that were already preparing to close for the night by now. A few strides passed and we found the gallery indeed, three large pane glass windows, with artsy posters on them, and the neon sign told that this was the "Gallery Parvenu", and the crowd of tails visible form the inside besides the posters inside told me that whatever was going on there was in full swing.
"Oh damn..." I said.
"Let's just go in," Jane grabbed the door handle and opened it, nudging me with her paw on her way, "nobody will be bothered. We're not really late."
One moment I was out on the cold pavement, next in a room populated by bustling furs, mostly dispersed around to stare and appreciate the exhibits.
"Hello!"
My hopes of a subtle entrance were crushed right away, considering that a wolf wearing a very loud blazer was upon me the moment I stepped across the threshold. He held a steel tray with glasses of bubbly on it, and a most welcoming...rather lavender smile over his broad muzzle.
"Courtesies of the gallery and the artist!" the wolf said. "Welcome to the opening of the "Inner Me" exhibition!"
"Oooooohhh how nice!" Jane, who had pushed past me, was all over it, right away, reaching eagerly for the tray.
"On the house!" the wolf smiled. "You're most welcome!"
"Thank you," I said, as I too took one of the offered glasses.
"Chin-chin!" Jane lifted hers.
We clinked glasses and I took a quick sip before Jane nudged us off to the side a little so that we wouldn't block the entrance. Turning around, I was instantly facing a black and white photograph of a palomino stallion posing for the camera naked, with only the curve of his bent knee covering his modesty, so to speak. My eyes widened a bit...my striped tail made a sudden jump, and I was glad, I guess that I didn't smack it against anyone, or anything...
"The 'Inner Me' indeed..." Jane mused from the crook of my arm where she had slipped herself onto ever so effortlessly to stare at me staring at the aloof stallion who was being all so attractive on the photograph, blown up to...well...a considerable size, all things told, and...this life sized image sure was...large.
I gawked a bit, but managed to regain my composure after a quick extra sip of the champagne for my nerves.
"Well, you didn't tell me that it's a...this kind of an exhibition," I mused quietly. "This is practically... exhibitionism..."
"Me like," I could hear her tail wag like a whip behind her while she appreciated the stallion's perfectly sculpted body captured in spectacular black and white and printed on the matte-surfaced paper for a most lovely display.
"Yes..."I said.
"Come on, let's see if the rest is as fun as this!" she spoke excitedly. "And we should try to find Maud and Lafayette, too, they could be hiding somewhere."
I wanted to say something pointed to her because she brought the lion up again, but I bit myself back. Besides, our sidestepping had brought us in front of a photograph of a fox standing underneath a spray of water, ostensibly washing his head furs while all that covered his sheath in the image was a shadow cast by something unseen outside the frames of the picture. I bet if I'd squinted enough I could have made out the shape...
Eh...I mean, I had to admit, he looked very nice too...all lean and oddly vibrant even if there were no colors on this photo either, like on none of the ones on display, I could tell as much.
"Hmm...not quite my type..." Jane commented.
"I think it's pretty," I replied. It was the truth. All masculine, but it was pretty to look at.
"You like pretty guys?"
"Well it's got lovely composition, sure...the play of light and shadow..." I waved my paw, as if I was trying to figure out the divine section of the picture.
Yeah, a shadow that was making this a PG-rated, not an X-rated one...Jesus Almighty...
"You ain't fooling anyone," Jane giggled, sounding very satisfied with herself while she already sauntered away to the next exhibit, champagne in paw.
Well what'd she expect? I wasn't going to suddenly start to claim to her that I was an innocent virgin. I'd seen my share of naked male bodies, even in the flesh. I could appreciate the sight of a nice ass or a...well...a hard...tumescence alright. I wouldn't be opposed to cop a feel, either. Even possibly one belonging to the lion Jane kept teasing me about, if he happened to be here.
Now the terrier was busy looking at a photo of a black panther sprawled on bed with a rumpled sheet covering his fun parts, and this meant that I could perhaps spend a few moments looking at the exhibition without Jane's suggestive remarks. The fox was sexy but could only entertain for only a certain amount of time. The next photo in line was a muscular bear, a true grizzly, I suspected, wearing only shorts and with weights on each paw, muscles bulging, hard and mountainous. He didn't look like the average boy model...no, he'd probably been hired for his other talents, such as looking like he could benchpress a car.
Amusing a sit was, perhaps not quite my type, so I gladly stepped along and drank my champagne. I was starting to feel more relaxed, maybe without Jane's comments. I glanced over and saw that she was chatting with some furs in front of a big photo of a cougar licking an ice cream cone while looking like he'd just stepped out of a pool, complete with Speedos that left little for the imagination.
Ahem.
I was at the end of the display stand splitting the room in half and rounded the corner to find...more art, so to speak. There were displays on either side, and I started on the free-standing ones, since I suppose I could as well be systematic about my man-ogling. The black and white-printed hare covering his genitals with a basketball was...entertaining, and the pair of dogs standing in front of it and giggling sure seemed to enjoy it. I nodded to them politely and moved along to check the next picture, which was that of a lion preening his mane in front of a full-length mirror while wearing some sort of slacks, with suspenders hanging unused over the guy's rump. The sight made me snort a little - lions, eh?
It made me think of Lafayette, too. The lion was not to be seen on this side of the gallery floor, either, however, it was L-shaped (how fitting!) and I couldn't really see to the far side of the room from where I stood. Maybe he was hiding in the far corner of the room instead, looking at some nice bodybuilder ass caught on celluloid. The buns on the wolf on the next photo were something to behold in their own right, too. It seemed to be even bolder than the rest of the poses, since it really did show a butt in all its butt-like glory, really, with a teasing bushy tail and a cocky smirk towards the camera. Whoever had taken these shots must've had great fun -
I'd sidestepped over to the next photograph, but this time, I could do nothing but gawk at the display in front of me.
I stared.
It was a picture so familiar that I could have closed my eyes and still be able to visualize it down to the last detail, every whisker, every stripe, the smallest wrinkle of the confidently smiling muzzle. I didn't close my eyes now. I just looked at the expanse of black and white that reproduced the stripes, curves and muscles of the fur on the picture. There was a different tone to it, quite literally, because the photo quality was different to the ones I'd seen before. I knew the explanation, too, because this must've been taken years ago in very different circumstances.
I remembered it. I remember the slightly drunken giggles of my mother coming from downstairs, enjoying a nice evening showing off our brand new VHS player and one of the two home video tapes we had at that point (Footloose,_which they were watching, and _Bachelor Party, which my dad had got, but I wasn't really allowed to see because they thought it was too bawdy.) That wasn't really an unusual occurrence. My parents liked to entertain guests and friends, and it was all very casual, most of the time. I stayed in my room like a good boy, because I wasn't really interested in what was going on down there. Women, right?
It all changed the next afternoon. I think that's why I remembered the preceding night so well, because my mind made some sort of a connection, to the amusement expressed by my mother's friends, and what happened when I took the trash out. I'd just the trash bag into the outside, one of those old, shiny barrel-like things with a lid on top. My nose was filled with putrid smells and I was just about to slam the lid down when I saw something lying there, on the side. At first it seemed stupid to be dumpsterdiving my own home trash can, but the picture on the cover piqued my attention.
Remember, this was the time before porn, well, it existed, but how could a 15-year-old boy gotten his hands to gay porn in a small Arizona town, let alone in a bigger place? Tittie magazines were around, sure, but they only showed just that, tits, and I'd taken a few obligatory peeks at them when being subjected to then, but it did precious little to me. This magazine, however, had on its cover a shirtless wolf, buffed muscles and arms folded to make muscles pop and...something else was popping in my pants, too, for sure, while I hurried to stuff the magazine under my shirt before I scurried upstairs.
I put a chair under the doorknob to make sure I wasn't going to be discovered, and laid out my discovery onto my bed. The glossy cover indeed showed a wolf, and various headlines promoting health and fitness, which weren't that interesting, even though I had been recently hoping to get into shape (a project that was still ongoing, a decade later, admittedly), but what my eyes really wanted to see was the wolf.
He was sexy alright, but once I dared to open the potato peel-stained pages of the magazine, things just got even better. It must've been some kind of a beefcake magazine, the men on that publication were simply...perfect. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, it was better than the underwear section on a Sears catalogue or any even remotely suggestive scene I had ever seen on TV by that point. Every single spread on that magazine, between adverts for dietary aids and exercise equipment, was like a teenaged jerk off dream. I was rock hard in my pants and fondled myself almost unconsciously while taking in an overdose of manly sexual energy with my eyes.
My fingers must've been trembling by the time I got to...to him.
It was four pages, only two spreads. There was some kind of a excuse of a headline, but everyone knew that it was only about the pictures of a tiger. He must've been...thirty at the time, or maybe just a little older or so, not a gawky teenager, no. He was all muscle, of well-groomed furs and sexual confidence that could've been bottled, it was oozing out of him, spreading from the goddamned page of that magazine.
By that time I had been subjected to so many sexual sights that I had unbuttoned my jeans and my shaft sprung out, barbed, hot and musky in my palm. It didn't take long for me to shoot what was to be the first of innumerable loads thanks to that magazine which, to this day, I still suspect that one of my mother's friends had brought to bring a little bit of naughtiness to the otherwise tame housewives' night in with wine and finger foods and Kevin Bacon with tight buns.
Kevin Bacon had nothing to "Chad", the name of the tiger who had been the subject of the four pictures that were cemented in my subconscious, years after the magazine had disappeared during a move or whatever. I hadn't seen it in years, and hadn't really even thought about it for quite some time. There were different outlets, including visual materials, available in San Francisco, which meant that scourging newsagents for muscle magazines wasn't exactly necessary.
The picture on the wall was number 3. Page 35 on that stupid magazine, too. God, why did I remember a detail like that? What made it so important? It was an adolescent jack-off fantasy, it wasn't that special...many more would come after it...but it was...it was what it was. It was just the most perfect thing I had ever seen up to that age, and now, facing that massive version of that same picture, all that old lust came rushing back, literally, in a burst of hot blood into my ears, my cheeks, and my sheath.
It wasn't even my favorite picture out of the four on the magazine. This one was number three, the one where the tiger was lying down, arms folded under his neck so that you could see his armpits, with the tuffs of fur there that seemed lovely to push your muzzle onto. His legs were folded, and his tail was swung up so that his sheath was just about covered to maintain the illusion that he had not been photographed as sex object, but simply as a subject of aspiration, an example of how you could end up looking with a healthy diet and a lot of exercise. Even the slightly long head furs, typical of the age, couldn't mar the fact that he was fantastically handsome, in perfect shape, and beautiful.
My favorite was the one where he stood with his side to the camera, looking down to the floor, his tailtip in his paw so that you could see a lot of a buttock and the sinewy curves of his muscles while he tensed, shoulders, hip, everything, to maintain the posture on one footpaw. The other had been raised to make sure you didn't see his balls, otherwise they would have had to resort to airbrushing. Even I knew that much about moral standards and photo manipulation techniques.
Chad on the wall was in black and white, unlike the vibrant, rich gold and red and black and white that had made him on the page of that smutty magazine. And even with the colors washed away from him, he was as breathtakingly beautiful and erotic as he had been the first moment I laid my eyes on him.
How was this possible? Why would such a picture sit here, among all the others? It just seemed out of place. The others were photographs of younger furs, filmed in much more suggestive, playful, even, poses than the one presented here. This was an older aesthetic, an enduring one, but different from the pictures that hung alongside it on the walls.
I looked at a small card taped onto the wall underneath the picture. My paws were close to my hips and they felt like they were trembling. The front of my pants felt uncomfortably tight.
15. Photograph of a tiger. B&W
Maurice Lambert
1984
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Maurice...not Chad...was that the name of the tiger?
I rushed over to the next photo, wondering what the card underneath that would say. Would it be the name of the model or the photographer? I barely even noticed the fine lines of the Doberman before I was intently reading the information provided by the card.
16. Study of a Doberman. B&W
Percy Yeager
1995
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Percy Yeager...was that it? I cursed myself. I should've been paying more attention to this. What a fool I was. What was I going to do with that information? Why would I be more the wise for knowing the name of the tiger who had posed his body on a semi-porn magazine ten years ago? Rush over to the nearest phone booth and try looking up all Percy Yeagers on the phone book? How would this make me wiser?
I bumped against a kangaroo when I moved over to the next display and passionately read the card provided for this picture.
17. Photograph of a wolverine. B&W
Percy Yeager
1994
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Percy Yeager...which meant that it was the name of the photographer. My ears dropped, and a strange feeling of disappointment filled me. Why did it bother me so much? I couldn't have done anything with that information. The tiger was 'Chad' in my mind and why he was displayed among these photos which seemed to be much younger made no sense to me. Perhaps there were other older works here. Maybe the sexy fox and the horse I'd seen with Jane had been some old favorites they had decided to display alongside the newer pieces. I could ask someone, surely...maybe...
"Reuben!"
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My ears perked at the sound of my name being spoken in a familiar, high-pitched voice. I looked towards the source and saw Jane coming out from the unseen side of the room, with a tall, richly maned, mauve-shirted lion in tow.
I swallowed. The sight of Lafayette, the big, smart, smirking, confident lion was enough to rattle me once more, even after the shock to the system that was the photo popping up in this gallery and putting me out of my paces.
The lion was all purrs and smiles when they reached me, Jane's tail batting like a fan behind her.
"Oh, Reuben, look who I found!"
"Hey," the lion rumbled pleasantly.
"Good evening," I spluttered. It was difficult to face him, well, both of them, since I had a big boner in my pants and it had nothing to do with the lion whose musk I could smell even in the mingling of odors that the gallery was with its many occupants.
"Are you enjoying the night?" Lafayette questioned me, a model of sophistication in his casual jacket, shirt, top button open, thumb in the pocket of his slacks. He wasn't carrying a champagne glass, but his breath indicated that he had partaken.
"It's quite nice, thank you," I replied modestly "I must admit that I had no idea what this was about before I came here. Jane has kept me in the dark."
"It's more fun that way," Jane beamed from the lion's side, "and the look on his face when he saw the first naked boy...priceless!"
"I'm sure," the lion beamed, "suddenly feeling shy, Reuben?"
"No, why would I?" I replied. "It's not my first art gallery opening."
"Reuben was wondering when the singing was going to start," Jane teased.
"In fact," I stood more upright, "I was wondering where you were, since I heard you were supposed to be here."
The lion flashed one of his Colgate grins and puffed out his chest noticeably.
"Oh, I came early, I am here on an official business, after all," he replied.
"Yes?"
"Oh, it's so exciting!" Jane hopped by his side.
"I'm actually doing a story about this exhibition for the Gazette," Lafayette replied with a purr, "just a little piece, really, but I am sure that it will be of most interesting nature."
So typical of Lafayette. The story was likely going to be a 150 words, or something like that, maybe even without pictures. And he was talking like he'd gotten the front page story of the New York Times. He was so happy, and proud.
"That's great news for you," I said, "I'm happy for you."
"So shame that Maud couldn't make it, apparently," Jane sounded disappointed, "did you anything about her, Lafayette?"
"Not all day, I'm afraid," he dipped his head down so that he could look at her when they spoke, "I've been mostly out and about in town, however, she might have phoned when my housemate wasn't in either."
"Maybe she'll show up later," I opined, "she might just be running late. Maybe she had to stay at work or something."
"Perhaps," Lafayette shrugged his shoulders theatrically, "oh well, I have to go to talk to the gallery owner, there are some things I would to ask about this space, so...catch you later?"
He looked at me, and Jane was practically purring while she witnessed Lafayette looking me over, and me gawking back to the lion.
"Sure," I spoke robotically.
The lion patted my arm before he floated away, which left me to be tackled by the terrier, who was all smiles and paws.
"Uuuuhh..."
"What?" I frowned.
"I can practically smell the tension...oh boy, you're cute," she grinned.
I wondered if she really could smell something...if it was, it was probably my arousal from the fact that seeing the mysterious tiger photo had made me perfectly hard and ready...and I was only at half mast yet, anyway. I was pretty sure she couldn't make it out, though. There were so many furs here, and some were even wearing artificial musk. It'd be difficult to single out one aroused tiger, even if she knew my scent quite well by now, of course.
"Oh, stop it," I told her.
"Awww..."
"Let's look at more art, can we?" I said. I really needed a distraction from both my...intense...reaction to the photo of the mystery tiger, and to the appearance of Lafayette, and the teasing terrier's remarks.
"Ohhh so you do agree now that it's art?" she looked at me with her tongue poking out between her lips.
She was standing in front of a very large photograph of a zebra lying on his belly on a mattress, using his arm as a pillow and with his eyes closed, as if sleeping, and while he appeared very relaxed, the sight of his bare striped ass was...artsy indeed. I tried to keep my eyes on the small woman.
"Well it's...art," I said.
"You're stupid," she replied. "Here. Take a look at this, maybe you'll learn a few facts you can discuss with Lafayette..."
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She winked, handed me a folded piece of paper, and then sauntered away, leaving me to stare at the sleepy zebra on the wall. I shook my head softly and looked down at the paper she'd given to me. It was a small booklet, felt like it'd been printed with a copy machine and bound with staples. The cover told me the name of the exhibition _("Inner Me, by Percy Yeager),_and the contact information of the gallery. I flipped it open with mild curiosity and saw the most of the interior consisted of fuzzy copies of the pieces on display, with a few lines of information about each of them.
And yes, nowadays we'd call those images pixilated and grainy because of the poor resolution of whatever publishing program that had been used, but I was innocent back then, and was happy about the fact I could turn on a computer and get into WordPerfect to do my writing on it.
My stomach - okay, and my cock - jolted when Chad the tiger appeared, fuzzy and not too attractive, though enough to get my attention. I eyed the text underneath it with the hope that it would shed some more light to the mystery of the cat who was captivating my attention even as a messy printout on the paper.
15. Black and white image of a young tiger. Reproduced with the permission of the estate of Maurice Lambert (1941-1992). Processed from the original negatives.
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My ears drooped. The only new information that had given to me was that whoever had taken the photo of Chad the wet dream tiger had died a few years ago. The additional word "young" told me nothing more about the cat, either. I wasn't sure why I felt so disappointed. It shouldn't have mattered.
I folded the leaflet closed with a rumble of annoyance and turned my head to seek out the familiar shapes of Lafayette or Jane. I could catch the lion easy enough, he was talking with the wolf who'd been serving champagne before, but Jane remained AWOL. I was sure she would pop out sooner or later to drag me to giggle at yet another almost-visible big cock or a particularly juicy ass. I drank the rest of champagne in my own flute glass and put it down onto a nearby little table that held a stack of copies of the brochure. I might as well check out the rest before Jane was breathing down on my back. Maybe some of the hot guys would take my mind off the annoying mystery of the tiger, the woes of Lafayette, and Jane's hyperactivity.
I passed a mongoose and a rat and skirted past an otter staring at a blow-up of an otter modeling a pair of swimwear for our viewing pleasure, and then turned the corner to see what laid on the other end of the gallery. I was expectant of more suggestive male bodies in pleasant positions, but what I really saw...I couldn't have expected that.
Maybe I would have, if I hadn't given up on the leaflet so soon. In that case, I would have seen the last page, or so, I thought, because since I didn't, that put me only ten yards away from a large picture of a tiger lying on his back, surrounded by streamers of film, entire rolls of it that'd been pulled off the spools so that they came out in curls over his body, almost like his stripes. A large, somewhat old-fashioned camera was held in one paw and it covered his crotch, rather cheekily, while the other paw was behind his neck, one arm folded. His arms were beefy, and so were his legs, stretched out and visible all the way the way to the foot paws, and his tail looped to the side in a most relaxed of feline poses.
His expression was confident, a half a smile, and his ears were resolute, as was the angle of his muzzle, and that was saying a lot for someone who must've been pushing fifty, and who could pull off a nude shot like that.
He might've been older, but he was Chad.
I gawked.
I walked towards him in what felt like slow-motion, with paws that barely followed my commands. My tail was tense behind me, my paws...one clutching the leaflet so that it was rumpled against my palm.
It was massive, full body, and in life size. I was practically face to face with Chad, looking at me with that confident expression, in spectacularly crisp black and white. I could see each whisker and each hair, as much as they could be told apart against that non-descript backdrop. It seemed that age had barely marred him...only made him larger...more confident, a...a new taste, a more...less sweet of a flavor.
I was getting poetic. That wasn't a good sign.
I was hard as a crowbar in my pants. Even my breath quickened. It was like I was 15 again and with my pants around my ankles and lying on my bed to jack off another musky tiger load to relieve the itching tension that would grow and grow until there was nothing else I could do.
Fuck. I was thinking about jacking off in the middle of a room full of about thirty furs, and I was staring at the subject of so many adolescent jack-off sessions and fantasies that I could barely move for the arousal forcing me to put that stupid leaflet over my crotch and pretend I was just gazing intently at the art.
I approached...Chad...and we were only a yard apart, so that I could look at the little white card taped to the wall next to him.
40. Self-portrait in B&W.
_ Photographed by Oliver Ghent at Percy Yeager Studios._
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I squinted at the tiny text. A self-portrait of whom? Self-portrait...photographed by...Oliver Ghent. Was Oliver Ghent the name of the mysterious tiger once known as Chad when he posted for a questionable magazine? The leaflet rustled in my paw as my fingers squeezed on it even harder.
I tried to unfold it to the best of my ability before I went through the thin pages as quickly as possibly until I found a page devoted to the dream tiger, not as pretty on paper, but still...Jesus Christ.
40. Self portrait of the artist. Experiment in a studio portrait, composition and lighting considering the challenges of the texturing of tiger fur. Photographed by Oliver Ghent for Percy Yeager Studios. Proprietary.
_ _
Self portrait...the artist...would...would he talk about himself in the third person, if he was the photographer himself? Oliver Ghent...or...did this mean that this was a picture of Percy Yeager, which meant that he was also...
I looked between the life-sized portrait, the crumpled paper in my paw, and then again at the pouty tiger staring into eternity from his wall like a...saint, or something.
"It's a bit indulgent, isn't it?"
_ _
A deep voice...friendly, however...the voice was as smiling as the muzzle I witnessed once I turned my head enough to see who was talking to me.
He was tall, dressed in all black, casually so, however, nothing flashy. I didn't really register it that much, either. I was more concentrated to the broad shoulders, shapely hips and the smile on his black lips.
It was Chad.
"Hhhhhhhhhhh..."
That's what escaped from my throat when coming face to face with the tiger who seemed to have jumped off the wall and now stood in front of me, smiling all so casually.
I glanced at the wall, and then looked at the tiger again.
"That's you," I said.
The tiger offered a paw. It was big.
"Percy Yeager," the tiger said, "and that's me."
The paw felt warm in my grip. My fingers must've been trembling, but he squeezed my paw most politely.
"Wow..."
"Heheh," he preened his neck fuzz a little with his fingers, once they were free of my clammy paw, "I thought it was amusing to see how I'd look here among the others. What do you think?"
I'd touched him...I knew that he was real...my paw was in his, I didn't have to reach to poke him with my fingers to make sure that I was going to be finding solid flesh and not...a pure mirage, some kind of a strange sexual hallucination caused by the sight of the naughty tiger photos. It was just...ridiculous. Things like this didn't happen.
He was still looking at me, too, with his smart, warm eyes, questioning me for an answer to the question.
"I think..." I tried.
What was I thinking exactly? I doubted the tiger wanted to hear about everything I was thinking on that moment. The tiger's ego might burst. I might get signed up to some sort of a sex offender list, too.
"...I think it's...beautiful," I managed, "I...I mean...you...uh...the picture is beautiful, and...you look beautiful, and...I mean, you're not pretty or anything or..."
I was mumbling and I felt my flush deepen, and my tail tucked itself between my legs when I felt shame overtake me. I was making a complete fool of myself in front of the tiger whom surely had no idea why I was acting so flustered in front of him.
"Hahah," the tiger chuckled, "I've been called worse names than that. Have you enjoyed the rest as well?"
"Uh...of course!" I practically yelped. "Everything looks great. They're really good."
"Thank you!" the tiger seemed pleased that a random stranger such as I enjoyed them. "It's been a while since I exhibited. Work keeps me busy, and since this is more play than work...I suppose I shouldn't complain about work, though."
"I guess not," I said.
"Are you professionally interested in photography?"
Damn.
"Oh...I'm...interested, sure, but I don't...practice," I mumbled, "I do take photos sometimes, though I just have a regular camera...I actually came here with...well, I'm here with a friend who's a writer for a paper, he...I think he came with a camera..."
"A tall lion, perhaps?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Oh yes, we talked," the tiger smiled, "He was most interested about the exhibition."
Sounded like Lafayette alright.
"I'm sure," I said.
He smiled again, and gave a polite nod.
"Very nice talking with you. I think there are still a few guests I didn't greet yet. Thank you for coming!"
I smiled broadly, and he smiled again, and then Chad...Percy...whatever he was called, was walking through the gallery again, all smiles and confidently swinging tail and attention for everyone.
Those pants fit so well, too...snug against the striped buns I knew so well from that photograph all those years ago.
*
It probably wasn't a surprise that my head was practically spinning by the time we finally left the gallery, whether from lack of oxygen in my brain due to the blood rushing to different places, or from the fact that I still couldn't comprehend that something as random as that could really happen to me of all furs. World's sexiest fellow tiger in the flesh, without a warning...things like this just didn't happen.
"Anyone fancy something to eat?" Jane clapped her paws together.
"I'd love to, but I have some writing to do for tomorrow," Lafayette rumbled. His golden furs shone in the streetlights, in good contrast for the black of the coat he wore, "I must be off."
"Awww...well, will you at least come, sweetheart?" Jane fluttered her eyes at me while pawing on my arm.
"Uh, I think I'm going to skip, that champagne went to my head," I semi-lied, "I think I'll just go and crash."
"Awwww...a girl alone in a big city with no knight in shining Burberry..."
"Taxi!" Lafayette was already waving for one from the curb.
"Sorry, "I pouted to her.
"Oh, never mind," she said, "I'll be better off not stuffing myself. Though I'll still probably go home and eat half a gallon of ice cream or something..."
"You must resist the urge!" Lafayette chuckled.
"I bet you have one of those bottomless stomachs," she complained," you can eat, eat and eat and it never gathers anywhere..."
Women!
Lafayette was good sport about it. He patted his stomach and gave her a smile as bright as a photograph flash.
"I thought I only had bottomless pants," he said.
"Kinky!" Jane declared.
"But here's a cab," Lafayette pointed out the yellow car, "Are you coming, Reuben?"
"Huh?" I asked dully.
"Are you coming?" he gestured at the cab which had come to a halt by the curb, "You do live in the same direction, we can take the same ride."
Jane gasped.
"Uuuuuuuuuuh!"
"Come on, we'll split the fare," Lafayette opened the cab door.
"I guess - I guess I'll be going then," I told Jane, who looked like she'd just...I don't know. Whatever made her the happiest dog in the world.
"Do tell me how it went," she winked, "goodnight, Lafayette!"
"Goodnight, Jane, darling!" the lion flash-bulbed her once more before stuffing himself into the cab.
"Uh...goodnight, I guess," I told her, too.
She was still smirking by the time I was in the cab.
*
I should've known how it was going to turn out. The cab ride was still innocent enough, but Lafayette's mention of a "rather nice bottle of red wine I picked up in Castro" was a warning sign...and in my then vulnerable state, I did end up over to his place for a night cap.
He nibbled my neck and I fondled his neck through his strong mane, and tasted the wine on his tongue when he put his tongue in my mouth and I sucked on it hungrily until we were both purring and breathless.
The sex with Lafayette was great. It was always intense and pleasurable. He was in control, but not in an overtly dominant manner, I guess. He just knew what he wanted and what to do about that. He did give reach-around, too, when I was pinned on the bed and he leaned victoriously over me, hips banging against my butt in concert with his rough rumbles and grunts.
I wasn't thinking about the lion inside me, though...in my mind, whoever was there, had stripes and strong muscles and a smile to melt ice with.
I came hard, so very, very hard.
*
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