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For a period of time, I lived in an apartment complex. Nice place, not one of those that you see in the background on newscasts reporting a neighborhood shooting - no, it was the sort of apartments where you drive by, and you're like "oh, those look nice" or "I wouldn't mind living there for a few days". So, really, I couldn't complain; however, life's constant (and rather rude) encroachment eventually pushed me out of that apartment and into the house I'm at now with two roommates, the same two that you probably already know. I don't regret moving in with these two; it's the moving out of the old apartment that still haunts me sometimes.

Well, let me further specify - it's not the actual moving-out part that I regret... rather, it's the leaving-people-behind. It's the leaving-someone-in-particular behind, actually. Ours was an odd relationship, one of the ones whose importance you don't really realize until after it's already ended, like - in kindergarten I lived in a different state and had one friend, and never really appreciated him until I moved to a new school in first grade. Sure, my relationship with that Someone-In-Particular paled in comparison to my relationship with this Someone-In-Particular, but... after not speaking with my kindergarten friend for ten years I finally got back in contact, so I can only hope that the same will happen with this second Someone. He and I were friends, maybe a little more than that, I don't know; I gave him my phone number a while before my move, but... to quote a video game: The days passed like wind...

...but the gentleman never called.

He was a German shepherd, an older fellow - maybe, I don't know... thirty-five or so? I never asked. He was old enough to have seen enough of the world to know how it worked better than I did, almost straight out of high school, looking to go to college for geology, to (as my fruit bat friend put it) lick rocks for a living. This shepherd, in contrast, was a teacher... in fact, that was how I'd met him: fifth or sixth grade, he taught my music appreciation class, a little one-semester thing that we had maybe once or twice a week for thirty minutes. Then, my sophomore year of high school, he subbed for my English teacher while she was busy having a baby; I asked him why he'd gone to substituting, and he told me that the elementary school he'd worked at had fired him. I never really learned why until after high school when I visited him in the apartment next to mine, and smelled the ever-present hovering fog of alcohol in the air.

Name of Jacobs, Charlie P.; brown eyes; fur chocolate in one place, cinnamon in another, nutmeg in a third; maybe it'd always been like this and I just didn't notice in elementary, but as I got to know him better, his scent turned from the exact combination you'd expect your average working dad to smell like - cocktail mixture of the tang of cigar smoke, the bitter of alcohol, the spice of male musk - to... something else, something not entirely different but also not quite the same. It turned to something more pleasant, something that I'd find myself at night burying my nose into shirts I'd left at his place to squeeze out each last drop of that scent - and yet, I wasn't fully sure that it had even ever changed.

First he was a teacher, Mr. Jacobs, who'd been the one to introduce me to Chicago, to Porter, to Fitzgerald when I was, like, ten years old. Second he was a friend, the first person I'd gone to in fifth grade when my parents divorced, simply because he was the nicest of my teachers - nice enough so that I wasn't afraid to raise my paw to answer a question in class. Third he became... well, both of these combined and more, someone I could talk to if I needed help with legal or financial stuff, someone I could ask to come with me if I had an extra ticket to the opera, someone to invite over for hot chocolate or just to read the paper in the same room, someone to hold on to when I got the news of my grandmother's death. Someone to ask for help with operating an electric can-opener, someone to drive me to a job interview and to tell me "don't worry, you'll do fine" on the way there, someone to treat me to ice cream a few days later when I got the congratulatory call. He was there to help me pay taxes and sign on to my own phone plan instead of riding off of my mother's, was there to bring me to get my own driver's license and then to bring me to the insurance place when I crashed my car, was there to give me both financial and emotional support when I was then fired from my job.

He congratulated me on my acceptance into college, then treated me again to ice cream on hearing about the scholarship I'd gotten that would pay for almost three-quarters of the tuition - cookies and cream with gummy bears on top, just the way I liked. He got gummy bears on his ice cream - rocky road - too, just to let me pick them off. Then, he listened when I told him what sort of situation I was in when it came to a job and money; he helped me pack my bags and my boxes; he gave me a firm hug and a kiss between the ears on the morning I moved out.

Then, fourth, he became a memory. My phone's lock screen remained a picture of us when we'd gone hiking, taken when he handed the camera to a passing couple, for maybe three weeks after my move. I'd simply gotten tired of answering the standard "Who's that?" question asked by nearly everyone who saw it, the assumption of him being my father or uncle or some relation knocked out by our simple species difference, me being an otter. Two months later I had to factory-reset my phone to free up space, and ended up losing the picture as well as his number in my contacts. I didn't realize it until a few days later, and then had to reset it again after throwing it against the wall a little too hard.

Some teachers leave your mind and your memory the day after your year with them ends; some linger on a little longer because of something they did or said; and then some never really leave, whether it's their face, their voice, or their name that hang around in your mind. Guess which one of these Mr. Jacobs was.

I remember one day in particular a little before my move. Since the day I'd told him I was leaving, our visits had been... quieter, simpler, a bit muted, almost. Before, we'd chat about current events or a new movie that had come out or something, but then after... he'd smile, he'd greet me at the door with a quiet "Hey Lukas" and a warm hug, he'd offer me coffee (which I always declined) or anything else, all like usual, but then we'd sit down in the living room or at the kitchen table and have only drawn-out tenuous conversations. I almost felt as if I'd done something wrong, and that made me uncomfortable; slowly, however, I grew used to it, and that also made me uncomfortable.

This day was unique in that, after I'd woken up, brushed my teeth, gotten dressed, all that, I went over and left my apartment, walked over the four or five feet to his door, knocked, waited, and then... he answered it, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, plaid blue-and-green, when normally he'd be fully dressed by now.

"Hi Mr. Jacobs," I said, and grinned up at him. "How are you today?"

I'm not sure what sort of response I'd expected, but it wasn't what I got. He sniffed, swallowed, scratched his tan bellyfur, and then lifted his arms, placed them on my shoulders, and drew me into a hug. By this time, our relationship had already developed into the something-slightly-more-but-not-quite at which it had peaked, and as such, I didn't feel too strange or guilty about nuzzling into the fur of his upper chest, running my nose along the line of his collarbone, breathing in the myriad scent of his - dry cigars, old booze, stale sweat, a sharp tickle of arousal from something that he might've awoken with.

"Hey, Luke," he said afterwards, shifting his arms down to my hips. He didn't really hold me there, no; it was just the weight of his heavy paws and my own willingness that kept me against him, an action that probably would have gotten him arrested had it happened while he was still my teacher. I smiled upon hearing his voice, and - for a quick, quick half-second - thought how easy it would be to stand up on my toes and press my lips to his... "I'm okay. Been better, but... I'll be fine. Here, come on in..."

His paw brushed against mine for a moment after he stepped out of the hug, his claws in my fur sending a sweet shiver up that arm. I followed him in; also over time, the scent of his apartment shifted from alcohol to his coffee and the cinnamon that he always spiced my hot chocolate with. "Oh," was my reply. "Is it anything you wanna talk about?"

I lingered behind while he went off into the kitchen. A short while later, the noise of dishes clanking together came from there, and then the sound of water from the faucet. "I don't know. It's... I don't know. You're young."

"So?" I leaned against the threshold, watching him work over the sink from behind. His form wasn't exactly slim, lithe - that was me, see - but he certainly wasn't overweight; rather, he was comfortably in between, the kind of body that you could simply be content with without desiring anything more. His tail swished idly behind him while his tip flicked around on its own, belying his happiness at seeing me. "'Young but mature'. That's what you told me, Mr. Jacobs."

He lifted his head, flicked an ear back towards me, paused in doing his whatever-it-was. "Yeah," he breathed, "yeah, I guess I did..." and then went back to it. "I'd ask you if you know what it's like to lose someone that means a lot to you, but I know the answer. Didn't you say I was the first person you told when your grandma died?"

"Oh God. What's happened?"

"No, no, nothing yet. I mean..." He shut off the faucet and turned to face me, flicking the water off of his paws. Ears down, eyes avoiding mine, and then his body heaved in a heavy sigh... and, suddenly, I felt the weight of that sigh descend on my own shoulders. "Lukas..."

I found myself coming towards him, paws out, just... I don't know. Wanting to touch him, wanting to feel him, wanting to be there for him like how he'd always been there for me. "Mr. Jacobs, you don't... look so good... are you okay? Are you sick? I - have some Pepto at my place, if you want me to go get it..."

"I'm fine, really," he said, but didn't push me away when I took his paw in mine. In fact, he gave it a squeeze instead, and still held onto it when he went into the living room, myself close behind. He sat down on the couch, a nice old olive-green fabric thing that had absorbed all of the different scents of the apartment over time and now smelled thoroughly of Mr. Jacobs - I remember staying the night once and asking to sleep on this couch so that I could press my nose into it and breathe that scent, since I didn't quite have the nerve to ask if I could sleep in his bed... when I lost my job and came over to feel better, we ended up binge watching The Twilight Zone on this couch, and I fell asleep on his shoulder, and then later woke up to find his forehead pressed against mine and his arms around me... "It's... no one died or anything, if that's what you're thinking, Lukas."

"Oh, gosh, good." He still held my paw when he sat down on the couch, so I sat down next to him. Neither of us reached for the remote to the TV; instead, he just continued looking at a spot on the floor. "Uh... look, Mr. Jacobs-"

"I told you to call me Charlie."

"-I mean... I won't make you talk about it if you don't want to, but-"

He looked up at me so suddenly as to startle me and make me fall silent. Then, he sighed again - and I caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. It wasn't even ten AM. "When are you moving out?"

For a moment I couldn't think straight. Just - the way he looked at me... "Um... this weekend, why?..."

"I don't want you to leave, Luke."

...Oh. It was strange hearing him say that, as usuallyI was the one who dumped the emotions onto him... I mean, yeah, I knew that he had his good days and his bad days, I knew that he, too, felt differently about different things. Mr. Jacobs just usually didn't allow me to see how he felt, maybe a remnant of being a teacher: all business in the classroom, except for maybe a little joke every now and then. I brought my other paw to rest on his leg. "We'll keep in touch..."

Shame that that was all I could think to say. A moment of silence more, and then he abruptly stood up, said "Yeah, I don't feel well today, I'm gonna head back to bed", and disappeared down the hall, leaving me sitting on the couch feeling oddly... well, something. The warmth of his paw still lingered in the fur of mine, his scent carried on the air swirling around from his movement tickled my nose...

It really was amazing how we'd gotten here. When I first moved into my apartment, the owner of the complex mentioned my neighbor - "a quiet German shepherd, a guy who seems a lot older than he really is. I'd kick him out 'cause he drinks more than he should, but he never bothers anyone... and nobody ever really bothers him." I only ran into my neighbor himself on, like, the third day I lived here, after getting back from the grocery store - "hey," he said, "I know you, don't I?", and of course I recognized him right out and shook his paw. It kinda became an almost-daily thing for me to visit him so the two of us could just talk about whatever, since we always went to check our mail at the same time... I never really started thinking about how, exactly, I felt towards him, or how he did towards me, until I once persuaded him to go out to see a movie with me. It was a horror movie, and afterwards, I clearly remember him growling "never again" with this look on his face and glint in his eye that told me just how much he enjoyed it. I asked him when the last time he'd been to the movies was; he told me, not since his last boyfriend. That made my heart skip a little, as we'd never spoken about that sort of thing until then.

A little while later, after remaining on the couch with my chin on my fist in thought, I finally decided to get up and follow Mr. Jacobs down the hall. I hadn't been down to this part of his apartment in a while, not since he asked me to help paint the walls in the bedroom... a nice olive-green color, or maybe forest-green, I forget what the paint chip said. I wasn't... really... sure if the shepherd expected me to follow him back there, or if he wanted me to or what, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I mean - he'd always been there for me when I needed something, so I kinda felt indebted to him, you know?

The door to the bedroom was mostly shut, with only a thin sliver of space between it and the threshold; it was the darkness inside the room that let me know it wasn't fully closed. I stood there for a moment - waiting, listening; no noise came from inside other than the occasional rustling of fabric or a drawn-out sigh. I lifted my paw, waited, breathed in, breathed out, waited again, and then rapped a knuckle against the door.

"How'd I know you wouldn't leave?" was the response that floated through the little space, muffled presumably by blankets and pillows or whatever. Sure, when it's put like that, it sounds a bit harsh, but... the way he said it made something in my heart flutter a little. His was the tone of voice that implied I never doubted you. "Come in. I'm still decent, if that's what you're worried about."

So, I did. Nothing else to say really came to me; I just padded over on the cool carpet, stood by the bed looking down at him - his back was to me, and from here I couldn't tell if his eyes were closed or not. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jacobs."

"Call me Charlie."

"I just can't afford to live here anymore. I - don't have a job, and the only thing allowing me to go to that school is the scholarship I got... I'm gonna be moving in with two roommates - two - at a rented house off of money from Mom."

Here, he rolled over a little and looked up at me. His brown eyes looked black in the dim light. "I'd invite you to live here with me, but... I can't afford it either."

At first, that didn't really click, but... when he didn't roll back over, when he kept his eyes on me and his lips tight, I just had to ask- "What?"

"Lukas, I don't have a job either. I haven't had a steady job in years, not since I taught you in elementary. I'm pretty sure the only reason I haven't been evicted yet is because the owner likes me, but... you and I?" He shrugged, pulled himself up into a sitting position, and hugged his knees up close to his chest. "We're in the same boat, only you're a lot better off 'cause you're so young. Me? Everyone expects someone like me to already have this all figured out."

I sat down on the edge of the bed, a little bit away from him. The mattress sank and creaked a little under my weight... at my new place, apparently they'd have fancy memory foam mattresses instead of the standard spring ones that I've been sleeping on all my life. I wasn't sure how I'd feel about that. "Mr. Jacobs..."

He sighed. I could feel it in the fur of my arm from behind. "Yeah, you're right, I shouldn't say anything. I don't need - or really want - you to feel sorry for me; I'm only in the situation I'm in because of things I did in the past. Don't be like me, okay?"

I rubbed my paws together, thinking about what I was going to say. "I look up to you, Mr. Jacobs."

No response.

"I don't really talk to anyone else from school. They all went into college when I was trying to hold down a job, and... my brother's off somewhere else being successful, I haven't heard from my dad other than on my birthdays in a few years... all of these other kids, back in school, were getting, like, money and stuff as rewards for good grades, and all I got from my mom was an 'I expected better' or 'you'll do better next grading period'. You're... the..." Here, my words and thoughts started to fall apart. I found myself swallowing a lot, shifting a lot, picking at a spot on my pants that didn't have a loose thread before. "...well, really, the... um, well. My dad never let my friends come over - that's one reason I was almost happy when he and Mom divorced, 'cause then I could actually hang out with them. I feel like if you were my dad, you wouldn't have a problem with that."

The shepherd breathed a light laugh, like when you drag sandpaper really quickly across a rough surface. "As long as you kept up your grades, which - since you got that scholarship - I don't think you'd have a problem with. And, even then... I have a soft spot for you, you know-"

"I know."

"-so I'd let you anyway." He swallowed. "If I were your dad."

"But... yeah." It looked like he hadn't made his bed when he woke up this morning, which, given how he looked when he answered the door, was a handful of minutes before I knocked... or maybe even when I knocked. I put my paw out against the section of the bed beside my leg. "I never really got rewarded for doing anything. That - shouldn't be a complaint, I know, it should be what I expect 'because life won't reward you all the time', blah blah blah... but I did get a little jealous of my friends, y'know? They get paid for good grades and chores, I get pressured to do them anyway. You're the first person, the first... important person who's, like... treated me to ice cream when I've done something good, and... I really like that. I don't expect to be a dad anytime soon, and I don't really want to be one, but... if I do end up as one, I wanna be like you, in that regard."

Another period of silence, and I almost had to look to see that he was still awake - but right before I did, he leaned over and put a large paw over mine on the bed. His pads were warm, and the motion startled me enough to make me jump - which in turn caused him to squeeze a little, intertwining his fingers with mine. Then, soft words from him:

"I never really expected to be a dad, either."

I looked over at him again. To me, it was clear what he meant, since he'd told me before that he had no kids and was never married... and then a little later, that he'd never been seriously interested in a woman. Sure, I said, that's totally fine... just don't make a habit of teaching high school kids, because no matter who you are, they'll find a way to make fun of you for it. His response to that: That's okay; the teachers do that about the kids, too, especially the ones who graduate on the minimum plan or who aren't in any advanced courses... it's the only way I felt involved with anyone there.

He shrugged again. I couldn't tell if it was his heartbeat that I could feel or my own. "...But..." he went on, "that's part of why I don't really want you to leave. I know you're not exactly dependant on me-"

"I am for companionship. I told you, I hardly talk to any of my friends anymore..." I brought my legs up from the side of the bed and turned to face the shepherd, wiggling my paw out from under his in the process... though, then, I held it back out to him.

He smiled and took it. "You do?... I was going to say, I know you don't really depend on me, but I still... well, I like you. I like it when you visit, even if it's just to talk for a few minutes or watch some TV; I like it when you tell me what's going on in your life. Hell - I like being a part of your life, Lukas. I'm just... upset because you're leaving, and there's nothing I can do about it, and-"

He fell to silence when I scooted forward a little to throw my arms around him. "I like you, too," I said into the fur of his neck; after a moment, his paws came up my back and squeezed. "Look, Mr. Jacobs, I have your number and you have mine... and besides, it's still a little bit away. We'll keep in touch," Here, I leaned back and looked at him. "I promise."

"Lukas..." Brown eyes scanned my face, and then, the shepherd kissed my forehead, leaned in, pressed his nose to mine, and closed those eyes. We both remained silent for a little bit after, just breathing each other's scent, feeling each other's warmth and pulse and presence. I didn't know if he could feel it then, too, but... there certainly was something more. Just - after so long of being near him, and enjoying his company more and more, his scent started to remind me of - of home, of happiness, of...

I wiggled around, muttered a half-hearted "I'll leave you alone now' and started to stand, but I knew he wouldn't let me leave. Warm paws gripped my wrists, firmly yet also gently, and then pulled me down to the bed - and against the shepherd's form as he reclined, moving down along the mattress into a laying position. I adjusted a little so that my eyes came about even with his, and slid one leg between his as well.

It's a little odd to say, especially with the kind of relationship we had, but this was something that I'd actually dreamt about before. I sleep with a big stuffed cheetah, and sometimes when I feel particularly down, I pretend that it's someone close to me, someone who means something, and pretend that I can smell their scent on it... here, now that it was actually happening, it wasn't hard at all to nuzzle up under his chin, to pull one of his arms around me, to wriggle closer so that no section of my front did not touch his.

"I don't want you to leave."

"Shh." Again, I looked up at him, only to see his face and eyes-

-but then, suddenly, a paw lightly took my chin and tilted my muzzle up a little further, and then I found a pair of lips pressing against my own.

By God, such a bolt of rich electricity rippled through my body... that, however, I knew that he, too, felt, as when this first kiss broke, he leaned back in for a second, for a third, for a fourth and a fifth, each one accompanied by his paws moving further down along my body and his tongue becoming a little more adventurous against my lips, between my lips, on my own tongue... those paws of his found their way up the back of my shirt, and then - just as suddenly as he'd kissed me - we broke apart briefly so he could pull my shirt off of me. He'd seen me nude before when I showered here at his place and forgot to bring another pair of pants, and back then, I liked to imagine that he liked what he saw, but now I could finally see - well, feel - how much he did like it.

Somewhere in the midst of everything, amid all of the panting and wriggling and heat, I ended up on my back with him above me. This was perfectly okay. How we'd gone so quickly from tense sadness to hope to powerful desire... ah, I'll never know, but that's the thing about desire, isn't it? Nervous paws, shaky fingers, jerky grip; he fiddled with the fly of my pants (I didn't wear a belt, even though I should due to my skinniness), his anticipation quite palpable in how he lost his grip on the button a few times and then the zipper, but he got it - and then tugged both my pants and underwear off down my legs in one firm pull.

"God, Lukas..." he breathed, moving around to slide off his pajamas. "I - didn't think that you'd..."

Good lord. Okay, I'll be totally honest: more than once in the past had I jerked into my paw and spewed out all over my bed to thoughts of this very shepherd in this exact position over me... and what I'd had in my mind wasn't far off. I reached down, having to angle my shoulder a little, and ran my fingers up the underside of his hard length. "Oh, I do, Mr. Jacobs."

He leaned down towards me, pressing his forehead to mine with a gentle bump as well as rubbing his shaft against my own. I couldn't help but lift my hips up and grind against him, feeling his pulsating heat... when I did this, another hot breath rushed out over my whiskers. Then, in a softer voice, when he moved to nuzzle one of my ears: "Are you sure?"

...Okay, common misconception: bottoms are alway submissive, and tops are always dominant. Well, if you know me (and I'm a bottom), you'd know that, had I the strength, I'd roll things around so he'd be the one on his back with me over him, and then, I'd show him just how much I wanted it. However, I knew I couldn't budge his beefy frame no matter how much I could try, and... well, honestly, I rather enjoyed being squeezed between a soft mattress and his warm body. So, instead, I nodded, stole another kiss, and gave him a smile in answer.

Upon that consent, Mr. Jacobs... goddamn, he got right down to business. First came nuzzles at my neck, followed by little licks, little nips, little bites, at the same time as he squeezed his cock against mine in one of his paws and stroked; then, he brought that paw up to his mouth, spat in it, moved it back down to slicken himself up, and then he'd lifted himself up to his knees and had my rump elevated on his legs. Given his elevated breathing, how often his cock throbbed, and the considerable amount of pre that already drooled down onto my sack from above, I couldn't help but wonder how long he'd wanted this.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, keeping his eyes on me. I nodded. "Let me know if you want me to slow down or be a little more careful..."

"Yes, sir," was the first thing I could think to respond, if what was happening in my head could be called 'thinking'; this put a little bit of a twinkle into his eyes and sharpened his smile somewhat.

He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but refrained and instead licked his thumb, rubbed it against my tailhole a little - which made me wiggle - and then set the tip of his cock there to take its place. He breathed in, breathed out; our eyes met again; I gave an encouraging smile; he moved one of his paws to my hip and gripped my thigh with his other;

and then he started to sink into me.

God, was I nervous - and, God, was he thick. I wished I'd had a chance to get him between my lips and on my tongue, just to judge his length, his thickness, his overall size... and get a better sample of his musk, too, in my nose and also on my tongue, instead of just what floated up to me when he took his pants off (which itself had been enough to make me shiver again). Sure, he was far from my first - I'd just graduated high school, what did you expect? Virginity? - but I still had to move my legs apart a little and put a paw against his thigh as a silent slow down, still had to grit my teeth and grip onto his wrist for leverage while I churned my rump up and down on him in my own rhythm and at my own pace...

The easiest position for me is riding, whether he's on his back or sitting up, I don't care - just as long as I can be in control of the speed and force of what's going on. About halfway down his length - which was awesome - I reached up around his shoulders and pulled myself up so that I was sitting in his lap, and sank down further onto him with his arms tight around my back and muzzle against my neck. This way, it was easier for me to work down onto him and come back up, especially with his little thrusts along the way; finally, after quite a bit of wiggling and just-as-much panting, moaning, and leaking, he again captivated me with a kiss and lay me down on the bed, resuming his original position of being over me.

I'd never had such a passionate lover until him, and even now, I don't think anyone really compares. It was in the way he kept his forehead against mine or his eyes half-open watching my face; it was in his slow, deep thrusts, lifting up into me a little with each push in and lowering down with each pull out; it was in his steady, heavy breathing, his fast and strong pulse when I squeezed his wrist, the shadows of old muscles in his arms, chest, and belly that tightened and loosened beneath unkempt fur with his movements. His passion was entwined with the fabric of everything, with his scent as it swirled around my head and tickled my nostrils - like any type of acquired taste, tempting and sharp at first, but gradually more pleasurable and inescapable; with each shivering breath over my muzzle, over my whiskers, in the fur of my neck when he leaned down and nipped there again; with every full-body shiver each time he hilted in me and each time I clenched around him.

Nothing hung around in my mind, each new thought banished by rich pleasure and want; there was only him, him, him. As he slowly sped up, he stopped with his fantastic little miscellaneous motions - running his teeth through the fur of my neck, dragging his claws down my chest, gently biting my lower lip in a kiss - and put his paws out on the bed, on either side of me, to keep himself up as he pounded into me. Keeping my eyes closed kept me enveloped in a world of hot pleasure and scent and feral desire; opening them showed me who it was that kept me at such heights. One paw stroking my cock, I brought my other to the back of his head and tugged him back down to kiss me again, again, again.

I mentioned before that his bed had a spring mattress. You can probably imagine the sum of the noise we made, especially as we fell deeper and deeper into the sex: his low, gruff grunts and moans, my slightly higher-pitched exhalations and panting, the noise of fabric being stretched beneath us, the fur-muted sound of his hips against my rump each time he pushed in, and finally the ever-louder squeaking of the springs of the mattress being subjected to unusual force. God, I loved it; at times he'd wrap one arm around me and hold me down onto him as if trying to sink deeper, deeper into me, which felt just right and always resulted in my back arching and another light moan escaping my lips, and then at one point, he batted my paw away from my cock and took it over himself, working in rhythm with his thrusts - just as fast, just as hard, no less smooth, no less wonderful.

Mr. Jacobs must have been quite pent up- at least three times he just slowed to a stop but continued on my cock, probably edging himself, trying not to finish until I did. Honestly, I was glad he did, though I felt that he'd still fuck me even after cumming if he really wanted; when it comes to sex with someone that means a lot to you, it's like a little fire that grows in heat and intensity along the way, and with each participant's orgasm that fire flares up, so when it's both at once...

I was the first to cum, and only by a small margin, since he was still churning his hips in and out of me at the base of his length. He could feel it coming, and thus too sped up: about when I was halfway through bucking up into his paw, digging my claws into the mattress, sucking in a shuddering breath through an open mouth, and spurting out three or four ropes of cum over my chest, he pounded deep into me and also gripped me like I gripped the bed. Instead of a gasp, he breathed out a hot rush of air through tightly-clenched teeth, followed by a shuddering moan; then, panting and shivering, he leaned over me.

I was tingling all over, the aftershocks of such a powerful orgasm still resounding throughout my body. Mr. Jacobs tried to say something, but the words couldn't quite take the right form: all that came out right next to my ear was a strained "hahh... ahh... oh, Lukas.... hahhh....", and then another kiss to the neck.

Once we'd cooled down, once he'd slid out of me and we both cleaned up, while lying down cuddling on his bed, there was one thing in my mind, a simple three words. I couldn't bring myself to say those words, though, and instead just gripped his paw tight and nuzzled against his chest. I think he knew, though. I wanted to tell him before my move, but... I never got a chance to, as the following week was busy for the both of us. He had one job interview, and I had to finish packing my things; then he had to sub for a sick teacher at my high school; the day after that, I finished up everything having to do with the owner of the apartment complex and the official legal papers and everything; and then, the night before my move, Mr. Jacobs got arrested for speeding, as it was the last straw of quite a formidable number of violations lingering from when he'd been a heavier drinker. I got one final text from him at about 11:28 AM, two minutes before I'd have to leave for the airport, only learning about what had happened afterwards: "Got a ticket for speeding when trying to get a gift to u before u left. Cant drive u to the a/p. Sorry Luke". I ended up hiring a taxi and getting there fifteen minutes late.

I didn't know how long he'd be in jail. I didn't know if he'd text me or call me when he got out; I didn't know if his phone would even still be in service; I didn't know if he'd have been kicked out of that apartment. For the first two weeks, I texted often: "I miss you", "Thinking of you", "Remember the time when we...", "Wish I could see you", "I miss you", "I miss you", but never with a response. The days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to a month, a second, a fourth, a sixth, the months gradually turned into one year, a year and a half... I gave up. I didn't want to believe it, and I'm certain I never did, but I figured that - maybe - he'd forgotten about me.

So, I decided I'd try to forget about him, too. Every relationship makes its mark on the heart; here, I was trying to fill in the Grand Canyon.

But, then, on my birthday the year after I'd moved out, a solid twenty months, I got one text from a number that wasn't in my contacts - a picture message: two bowls of ice cream, one cookies and cream, one rocky road, both with gummy bears on top, and the message "Missing you a lot right now. The server said he hadn't seen me in a while, and asked where my friend was. Happy Birthday dear."

And, then, one more followed it.