FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It was just after nine-o'clock on a Saturday night, and the once-crowded restaurant was starting to become sparse. The air was faintly spicy and warm, a contrast to the wintry conditions outside. Snow fell. Thick, fluffy flakes covered the remnants of freezing rain from earlier in the day. Good thing the office is closed on Sunday. There were already winter weather advisories being issues for tomorrow. But I heard Monday's supposed to be worse?

Meadow, trying not to worry about it, sighed and stood before an empty booth, tugging at her purse-strap. She had her winter coat draped over one arm.

"Excuse me," said a waitress, sliding past her and collecting some of the plates. The rat paused and asked, "Can I help you, miss? You're done here, right?"

"Yeah, I'm done," she whispered. Though not by choice. The shorter mouse moved her bag to the opposite shoulder and turned away, long, ropy tail whipping behind her. At least I drove here on my own, right? Don't need a ride home. She twitched with annoyance. I didn't even want to come in the first place.

She'd been invited by a co-worker for 'girls' night out.' Normally, she didn't let herself get pressured into socializing. I may be submissive, but I'm not afraid to say no. However, she'd been feeling extra lonely lately. Maybe it was the weather? Facing the long, dark nights of a new year with the same old resolutions? Or maybe it was getting a slew of wedding invitations for next summer and fall from her large assortment of younger cousins. It's getting obnoxious. I've been to enough weddings recently to last me a lifetime._The last one had been alright, though. _Mm. That panther ...

Whatever the case, in a moment of weakness she'd acquiesced, thinking maybe it would do her good to have some company for a change. Break out of that shell! Live a little!

Yeah, no.

Come to find out, it wasn't just her co-worker in attendance. It was four other females she'd never met. All of them predators. They'd pretended she wasn't even here. And, now, they'd ditched her when she'd been in the restroom.

_Did they not like me? I don't remember saying anything to upset them. _

"You didn't say anything at all."

_Well, what was the point? It doesn't matter what I say in social situations. I'm just a mouse. I'm not important or imposing enough to pay attention to. 'Quiet as a mouse.' It's a phrase for a reason. My default mode is wallflower. Besides, they could probably sense you weren't having a good time. _

"Alright, I get it," she muttered at herself. But her mind wouldn't ease up.

Maybe they-

"Maybe they're just bitches," she decided pointedly. "Mm?" Then, realizing she'd said that out loud, she sheepishly looked around to make sure no canines were present. None were. She didn't want to offend anyone and cause a scene.

You're talking to yourself. They probably think you're unstable.

Another sigh. She normally wasn't this cranky. And she normally didn't curse. Well, not often. But being so casually discarded had hurt her feelings. They had paid for her meal, though. That was something.

Listen to yourself! You're making excuses for them? And when you're not doing that, you're blaming yourself! You're too nice, Meadow. Too passive.

"I'm a mouse!" she defended.

_Again with that? So what? Is that a diagnosis? An excuse? A crutch? You let other furs walk all over you. No wonder you're single and stuck in a dead-end job! _

"Mm. Just ... " Her shoulders sagged. "Shut up!"

Her subconscious went quiet.

"God." The golden-furred rodent huffed and rubbed at her neck. Surely, there were better things to do than argue with herself? "I need a drink," she decided dejectedly, wandering over to the bar area. She clambered into a stool, putting her purse on the counter and hooking her coat on the back of her seat. Just calm down. It's going to be alright. She rolled her eyes with bemusement. Now her mind was on her side?

A server, a bushy-tailed grey squirrel, immediately came up to her. "What can I-"

"I'll take a hard strawberry lemonade," she volunteered, not waiting for him to finish. "Please?"

"Bottle or glass?"

"Bottle." She hung her head, trying to collect her thoughts. The squirrel soon placed the bottle before her. "Thanks," she said, lifting her pointed nose. She grabbed the bottle. It was ice-cold to the touch and steam was rising from the lip. It smelled sweet and fruity. She took a swig. "Ooh." Her muzzle puckered at the tangy taste. "Yikes!"

"Too strong?" asked a voice to her left.

"Hmm? Oh, no, it's fine. I'm just ... you know, not entirely used to-" Meadow skipped a beat as she saw who she was speaking to. Or, rather, what she was speaking to. "Alcohol," she finally finished.

"If you take a picture, it'll last longer," the avian teased.

"Oh, uh ... sorry," Meadow squeaked. She blushed in the ears, whiskers twitching. "Am I staring?" She turned away. "Sorry," she said again. I'm just a walking faux pas tonight, aren't I?

"Well, yes, actually. You were. But I don't blame you," the duck said, puffing his chest out. His feathers were downy and fine with a distinct sheen to them. Emerald green from the neck northward, rusty red and brown on his upper chest. The two solid colors were separated by a ring of white. His clothing hid the rest, but his arm-feathers were white with streaks of black, even violet. Same for the curled-up cluster that formed his tail. He was quite striking to look at. Undeniably handsome.

"I guess you must stand out in crowds," Meadow eventually reasoned.

"I tend to. So, naturally, furs stare at me! Not to mention other avians. Also, cetaceans, scalies, insectoids." A pause. "Am I leaving anyone out?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer. Just prattled on. "I'm a mallard, you see. There aren't many of us. Well, there are. We're not endangered or anything. But we're not ubiquitous." He clacked his yellowish bill, nibbling on some penne pasta stuck on the end of his fork, getting tomato sauce everywhere. He used a napkin to dab it up. "That's my word for the day. I try to learn a new word every day, and today's word is-" He chewed a few times and swallowed. "Ubiquitous."

"I wish I shared your enthusiasm." She'd always admired that in others. Passion, confidence. They were such attractive qualities. Who's to say he's for real? He could be putting on airs. Birds are known for that, right? Male birds? More brightly colored than their female counterparts, all about show. They'll dance any dance to get their wings around a potential mate. That's what she'd heard anyway. But she didn't have much, if any, real-life experience with them.

"About what?"

"Mm?" She blinked herself back into focus.

"Shared my enthusiasm about-"

"About anything," the mouse replied. "I worry sometimes." Understatement! "It's just hard to ... " She turned her bottle around and around, wondering why she was admitting this to a total stranger. You have alcohol in your system, you feel blown off, and he seems harmless enough. You need to release some steam. Why not? "Anxiety makes me queasy, you know?"

The duck did know, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. He was, indeed, a male bird chatting with a seemingly available female. At a bar. He had to keep up appearances. "Is that why you're drinking? Because you feel down?" He made a clicking sound with his tongue. "That's a bad reason to drink! Alcohol, anyway. Now, water? Hydration is important! Very important." He quacked insistently.

"Uh-huh." She licked at her prominent buckteeth.

"Which, uh ... which thing do you know about?" He tilted his head. "I lost track of what I was saying. I do that when I'm nervous." He winced, muttering, "I, uh, didn't mean to say that."

The mouse wriggled on her seat, sitting up straighter. Her eyes widened in surprise. "You're nervous? Really?" Ha! So, he is'faking it.' At least a little. She hadn't expected him to admit it.

"Birds hide their emotions well," was all he said.

"Rodents don't," she countered sadly, whiskers twitching as proof.

"We also lack the range of facial expressions you, uh ... that your sort have." The mallard quickly polished off the rest of his entree and said, "Speaking of expressions, you look like you could use a smile."

"A smile?"

"One of those things. Where the corners of your muzzle go up? You know what I mean."

"Mm."

"I've always been jealous of that ability. Us birds have to do it with our eyes, see?" He demonstrated for her. His eyes were blue, much like her own. They seemed to sparkle. "You're not looking."

Meadow obliged, taking a brief peek. "Nice," she said with a shy nod. He is attractive, isn't he? She wasn't the best conversationalist when close to someone. When she'd just met them? She struggled for topics, not to mention confidence. She rubbed at her eyes.

"Beaks aren't ... aren't really bendable, nor are bills, which is what I have," he said, seeing her distress. Was she tired? Was he boring her? Oh, no! He gulped, angling himself in his chair so that the light hit his most-colorful feathers just so.

Meadow looked up, furrowing her golden brow. "What are you ... doing?" she asked slowly.

"Nothing." He arched his back and fluttered his tail-feathers. Drat, he thought. Guess it doesn't work on non-avians. "Anyway, I have a bill, and they're really quite different from-"

"We just established that."

"Did we? Oh. Right." He cleared his throat, feeling a rising desperation. He was losing her! "Well! Makes for a silly conversation when I ask for the dinner bill, as you can imagine. 'Hey, can I have my bill?' 'But it's already on your face!' Ha, ha!" He shook with mirth. When he saw her mood still hadn't changed, he fluffed his feathers and offered, with clear exasperation, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever's bothering you. And don't tell me it's nothing."

"I don't know how to talk about it," she confessed.

"How come?" he pressed. "I thought you said rodents-"

"Showing and talking about your feelings are two different things."

"Are they?" The avian looked confused. "I don't see how."

The mouse shrugged.

The mallard made a face. "If you'll pardon the expression, but I think you're throwing a 'pity party'."

"I am not!" she insisted.

The duck gave her a squinty-eyed look.

The harvest mouse squirmed. "Alright," she muttered. "Maybe. A very little one. With no cake."

"Where I'm from, life is lived out loud. Creatures make out in the streets! Well, side-streets. Or, if they don't like you, they flip you off as a way of greeting. No one hides anything. Love, hate. They let you know. It unnerved me at first, but it's actually quite refreshing."

"Welcome to the Heartland." She raised her bottle at him in jest.

"I'm sure it's not all that bad."

Meadow just took another drink.

"You're a tough nut to crack." But he wasn't one to give up easily. "Alright, then. You've left me with no choice!" He cleared his throat and rustled his tail-feathers. "What do you get when you cross a duck with fireworks?"

"I give up."

"You're not even trying!"

The mouse took a deep breath. "Um ... "

"Firequackers!" he announced. "Ha, ha! I 'quack' everyone up at parties," he said, making raspy duck-noises and shaking with jocularity. Then he stopped and admitted, privately, "But most of the jokes use the word quack. So, it gets a bit stale after a while." The glint returned to his eyes. "Like old quackers. Heh!"

"Hilarious," Meadow said evenly, trying not to smile. She didn't know how much longer she could remain upset, though. His attempts to cheer her up were, though lame, kinda sweet. Why's he being so nice to me? I guess even a grumpy mouse is a cute mouse. She stared straight ahead at the high-definition televisions. Football playoffs. Forgot those were even happening.

"Games have been awful so far," the duck said, following her gaze. "All blowouts. Been trying to determine why, statistically. The road teams shouldn't have the lopsided advantages they do. But it seems the home teams were winners from abnormally weak divisions? I, uh ... sorry. I'm interested in numbers."

"We all have our hobbies."

"It's more than a hobby, actually. But I prefer basketball." He looked around the bar area. "I've noticed sports seems to take a higher priority here? Only, I see banners and merchandise everywhere. Everyone has logos on their clothing, and-"

"The Midwest is sorta ... " She searched for a good word. "Boring?" It was the best she could do. She did love her home. But, sometimes, she hated it? It was a very mixed-up relationship.

"How so?"

"There's just not a lot of entertainment options. Fewer big cities, not a lot of support for the arts. Geographically, the land's completely flat, right? No mountains, lakes, or majestic landmarks. So, there's little in terms of communal activities except, well ... sports!"

"Hmm ... "

"Winters are bad. Great for indoor basketball. Summers are hot. Great for auto racing." She tilted her head left to right. "And so on."

"But these things aren't exclusive to the Midwest," he pointed out.

"They're not, I guess. But the culture here is largely rural, which translates into traditional, conservative ... and sorry if that's a loaded term." She sighed. "I'm not trying to get political. It's just the damn truth." Her paws opened and closed. "Anyway, sports gives a 'rallying point' for the populace, becomes a source of civic pride and unity. I don't know. So ... yeah. It's big here." She tilted her head left to right. "Sorry, I don't know how to be concise. And, yeah, I shouldn't drink ... "

"It's alright." He nodded, taking time to digest her comments. "What about you?" he asked gently. "Do you like them?"

"Only casually." She took another gulp of 'lemonade,' in spite of saying she shouldn't. Her head was beginning to buzz. She'd forgotten just how quickly alcohol worked on rodents, what with their fast metabolisms. She pushed the bottle away, as if trying to cut herself off. Before you make a fool of yourself. Before this rough night gets even rougher. "I'm Meadow, by the way. Don't think I said that."

"You didn't. But it's good to know! I'm Rodo."

"Unique name ... for a unique individual."

"It is!" he agreed. "And thank you."

She giggled. "You're so ... buoyant. Makes sense for a duck."

He blinked. "Was that a joke?"

"I was being punny. I have more, if you want them." Her mind began to fill with 'colorful' jokes. What do you call a duck wearing a condom? A rubber ducky! She rubbed at her hot cheeks. Guh. Meadow. Don't say that out loud, please.

"Heh. Oh! I get it! Yes. We float." He paused awkwardly. "Most amusing."

Meadow giggled again. Rodo had such an odd way of phrasing things. It was interesting. "Where, exactly, are you from? I guess you said you weren't from here, but I missed the exact-"

"New York City."

"Really? You don't have an accent."

"I do, sometimes, depending on the company I'm with. It's just not very thick." He briefly eyed the TV screen. Thirty-one to zero, now. He returned his attention to the mouse. "Have you ever been?"

"No." She skipped a beat. "Mm." She licked her lips. "I rarely travel. Now and then, but ... what are you doing in Nowhere, Indiana?"

"I work in tech, write software, things like that. Hence the interest in numbers. There's a conference in Indianapolis. The hotel costs were cheaper outside the city. My company is pretty frugal. And I guess Indy doesn't have good mass transit? I was going to have to drive myself either way. So, staying here and commuting. It's only for a few days. I just flew in this afternoon."

"Ha. Yeah. Hoosiers don't believe in mass transit," Meadow explained.

The duck swiveled on his barstool. "Why not?"

"They'll claim_they want the independence to do things and go places themselves. But, really, it's just plain stubbornness. They don't want things done for them. It's a very backward mindset." _Don't start on a political tangents! You'll scare him away ...

"I see! Well, I _don't_see, but ... " The duck trailed off. "I had no idea things were so foreign here."

"Mm-h," was all she could manage.

"Why do you stay, then?"

"I was born here. Family's all here." She went quiet. "Can't afford to leave? Financially, I mean. And, even if I could, I just ... " If you think you're lonely now, how would you feel hundreds of miles away, in a place completely unfamiliar to you? "Sometimes, you're just tied to a location."

"I guess, as a bird, I'm used to the idea of migration. Home is where the heart is."

"That's a nice sentiment," she affirmed.

He took a sip from a wine glass he'd left mostly untouched. It was supposed to complement his pasta, but he'd already gobbled all that up. He still had some bread left, though. So, he alternated between the wine and bread. "What do you do?"

"I'm just a secretary."

Raising his glass to her, he said, "Nothing wrong with that."

"Except the pay," she quipped before changing the subject. "So, you're using a rental car?"

"Yes. Though it was a pain to get on account of my age."

"Oh?" The mouse paused, giving him another look over. "How, uh ... how old are you?"

"Why? How old are you?" he asked, flipping the question.

"I asked first," Meadow insisted.

He scratched at his bill. "Twenty-two."

"Oh. I see." The harvest mouse nodded and ran a paw through her golden head-fur. "Mm."

"What?"

She hesitated. "Nothing."

"How old are-"

"Thirty-one." She seemed embarrassed.

"Ah." The mallard took a deep breath and insisted, "Well, you don't look it!"

"I'm pretty sure I do."

"Anyway, so what? It happens to everyone. That's, uh, not even ... really, not even that old. And I'm not that young!" he quickly added. "Nine years is nothing in a thirteen billion year-old universe. We're both adults. No reason we can't connect like we're doing."

"You're really sweet, Rodo." Meadow reached for her drink again, pulling it back to her. "But I'm like Mrs. Robinson," she muttered.

"A Mrs. What?"

"The Graduate," she said simply.

"From what school?"

Meadow put her face in her paw.

The duck tilted his head in that quizzical bird-like way. "Is this a trick question?"

"No, I'm just on a different planet sometimes." I knew I was probably older than him. But nine years? That's almost a full decade. Doesn't that mean something, the fact I can't find anyone my own age? Am I immature? "I have nothing in common with anyone. I'm good for a fling, but I'm not relationship material."

"What makes you say that?" Rodo asked.

"Experience. My peers know this. That's probably why I'm always spending time with ... " She gestured at him. "Whippersnappers like yourself." _ _

"Whipper? Snapper?"

"A brash young one."

"Heh. I'm hardly brash! I may act it, but ... " He shook his head. "That's all it is. An act."

She met his eyes.

"Why beat yourself up over not having a mate?" he asked gently.

Because I like sex, and I can't have it with myself? "I don't know," was all she said aloud. "Why does anyone?"

"Singlehood and intimacy aren't mutually exclusive. It's not either/or. They can be mixed."

"When you're young, maybe." She gestured at him. "But the older you get? When you're in your thirties? Or, hell, when I reach forty, fifty? The pool of potential partners dwindles all the time. Furs pair off, die out, or ... " I sound morbid, don't I? "The choices narrow. There's pressure. By my age, you're supposed to have put your freewheeling experimenting days behind you. You're supposed to choose a direction, choose a mate, and settle. That's adulthood. That's maturity."

"Says who? Society?"

"I guess. But there's something else. There's an urge, deep down. Biologically. A nagging need to ... well, nest. I guess for you, being male, it's not as strong. But my window of fertility is much shorter."

"Do you want kids?"

She shook her head. "Not really ... " Her breath shook. "One of my first boyfriends, he, uh ... dumped me when he found out. He wanted them. Like, it was really important to him. He'd just assumed I wanted them, too. And when he found I didn't?" She closed her eyes. "It was non-negotiable."

"I'm sorry," Rodo breathed, sliding a feathered arm over to her. He brushed her arm.

"It was a long time ago. But it was ... I haven't been with anyone from my own species since ... " Meadow would've leaned against him had they not been in separate chairs. She didn't want to fall on the floor. I'm tipsy, not drunk. "I sorta miss it, but ... " _You can barely string sentences together. You're a mess, Meadow. Pull yourself together! _

"So, uh, if you don't want what society wants from you ... " The duck shook his head. Tongue-twister! "Well, what's the problem?"

"I don't know. Nothing? It's ... it's just complicated. Sex is," she said with a sigh, "complicated." It was pleasure, intimacy, recreation, bonding, power, identity, procreation. And that was only scratching the surface. It was so much! I guess that's what makes it so endlessly alluring, so addicting. The complexity. The infinite flavor. And yet ... it's so simple at the same time, isn't it? So basic. So elemental. It's just one plus one equals two. That's all it is. The mouse exhaled, starting to feel flushed. Until it's not.

Rodo eventually replied, "You shouldn't define yourself by who you're with. Or, for that matter, who you're not with. I realize society puts emphasis on such things. I feel the pressure, too." He paused. "And, from what you've told me, you're surrounded by a monolithic culture. Back in New York, you're encouraged to match. But you're also encouraged to mix. And you can't help but mix, because the diversity is so great. You almost have no choice."

"Furs out here like stability. Familiarity. Tradition. Mixing it up?" She shook her head. "Everyone dances within the lines. I've always tried to stay there, myself. It felt proper. Felt right." She sighed. "But the past few years? More and more, I'm getting restless. I just can't settle. I want to see what's outside the lines. I want to experience ... things. Individuals. All they have to offer." She began to feel short of breath. More and more casual flings with more and more partners, most of them lusty, dominant predators? Each time, the thrill was greater!

"I see ... "

"You disapprove?"

"No!" Rodo moved his head around. "I'm, uh ... well ... " Her confession was turning him on. It made him think he had a real shot, tonight. At what? Whatever! He wasn't picky. It'd been a while for him. He tried not to appear over-eager, though. "I have no problem with that. Nor should you!"

"But I'm female."

"I'd noticed," he said approvingly.

She chuckled before explaining, seriously, "When I breed around, there are whispers. Looks. If I were male and doing the same? I'd get ribbed in the shoulders or slapped on the back. It's a ridiculous double-standard. It's not always obvious. But it's always there." She took a deep breath and giggled. "Sorry, I'm ... I'm crusading, tonight, aren't I?"

"You're venting."

"Only because I'm drinking. Otherwise, I wouldn't have the nerve." She rolled her neck around, trying to loosen her muscles. "I guess I don't do that enough. Vent. Other than inside my own head." Meadow stopped moving and smiled bashfully. She felt better than she had half an hour ago, at least. Wasn't that progress? "I've been getting relationship advice from someone who could be my kid brother." She bowed her head in deference. "If I were a duck."

"You'd make a good one! But you're an even better mouse," Rodo quacked.

"Smooth talker," she teased.

"I'm just glad you're finally smiling."

"Why?"

"Because you seem nice. You deserve it. And you're even prettier when you do."

She blushed severely, trying to come up with a witty retort. She couldn't think of any. Rodo was moving beyond 'smooth talk' and advancing toward something else. He's clearly interested in you. In spite of your tipsy, cynical ramblings. He's unique, fetching. I'd say that merits return interest. "Thanks," she whispered.

"You're welcome." He returned to his wine, polishing it off in several healthy swigs. His bill smacked. "Besides, I've never flirted with a mouse before."

"So, _that's_what this was," she said teasingly.

"I think so." He furrowed his brilliant-green brow. "Wasn't it?"

"Maybe," she replied coyly. "I'm glad one of us admitted it. I wasn't about to."

"Ah, this is ... 'hard to get,' yes? A mammal game?"

Meadow giggle-squeaked.

"I know what you're thinking," the mallard said as he circled the rim of his empty wine glass with a finger. Round and around. And around.

"You do?"

"Now that our cards are on the table, you're probably wondering what's it's like to ... " Rodo lowered his voice, nudging the glass aside and leaning in as if delivering a secret message. "Fuck a duck." He sat up straighter and said, "Pardon the language!"

A bit taken aback, the mouse squeaked, "I, um ... "

"Well, I wouldn't know! I mean, I am a duck, but it's never been my luck to, uh ... yeah. With a duck? No." He leaned in again. "But I'm not a virgin, if you know what I mean."

She tried not to laugh. Was this how all birds acted? Or was he just that young and inexperienced? "How much wine did you drink?"

"Mm? This?" he said, of his empty wine glass. "I hardly feel it."

"Still ... "

"_You_probably shouldn't be driving home yet. I should, um ... well. I could escort you?" Rodo exhaled. "How far away is your ... whatever your-"

"House. A few miles outside town."

"Oh, nice." He nodded, trying to be nonchalant.

"Probably not as ritzy as your hotel room, but-"

"It's an economy motel," he defended.

"Bet you have cable TV. And a breakfast buffet."

"Well ... " He nodded.

"I only have over-the-air television. And Cheerios," Meadow said.

"You're really roughing it out there, aren't you?" the bird razzed. He swiveled in his chair again. "So, like ... " Instead of being coy, he simply asked, "What should we do now? Your place or mine?"

She'd asked for this. She'd given him all the signals. Yet, hearing the options, she felt incredibly self-conscious. It took her a minute to respond. "How far away is the hotel?" She glanced behind them at the restaurant's main door.

"Across the street," he answered slowly, wondering what she was getting at. Or, rather, hoping she was getting at what he was hoping to get at. "You want to go there?"

"I shouldn't be driving far. I don't want you to drive me home, though. If the weather worsens, we'd be trapped in the countryside and me without a vehicle." She sucked air. That sounds kinda romantic, actually. "Right?"

"Whatever you want," he deferred.

"I'm not used to making decisions." She met his gaze.

"Neither am I, to be honest. I guess ... I guess I can?" He was a switch, technically. "Do you want me to lead? Or should I-"

Meadow held up her golden paws. "We're overthinking this." Which is probably my fault. I went on the whole spiel about sex being so complicated. "I can drive across the street, at least. Pretty sure I'm under the limit. And there's no traffic out."

"There shouldn't be," Rodo confirmed.

"See? Simple. I'm staying with you."

"Wow!" he exclaimed, almost flapping his arms. But he caught himself in time. "I mean ... okay. Sure."

Meadow giggled again. "You're funny."

"No, I'm not," the duck insisted, smiling with his eyes.

"Yes, you are."

"If you knew me back home, you wouldn't think so. 'There goes Rodo,' you'd say, 'all awkward and not knowing what to do'."

"I don't know you there. I know you here," she pointed out. Before the mallard could think of a response to that, she continued, "The staff's probably wanting us to leave. They're getting ready to close. I think we should go." The mouse used her prehensile tail to wave and signal for her bill. The same squirrel from earlier nodded and, a minute later, brought it over.

"I'll get it," Rodo insisted, snatching it from Meadow's grasp. "I'll take mine as well, please," he told the server.

"It's just one drink, Rodo." She tried to grab it back.

He kept it just outside her grasp. "Then it's no imposition on me."

Meadow relented with a shy, head-swimming nod. So, I got a meal paid for and a drink, as well? Not bad. She felt far better about the latter gesture, though. "Thank you."

"No problem!" He paid the bill with a fancy, metallic-looking credit card, one that meant he already had a nice income for a recent college graduate.

Meadow slipped out of her seat and wriggled into her coat. She then began removing things from the pockets, fitting them over her fleshy appendages.

"What ... what are those?" Rodo asked curiously as he slipped into his own jacket, giving her an uneven bird-like look.

"They're, uh ... " Meadow cleared her throat, explaining, "Ear-mittens and a tail-sock."

"Ha, ha! What?" The duck quacked.

"Mouse-bits are ... delicate." Did she really have to explain this? Wasn't it common knowledge? "And fur-less."

"Of course." This much he could see. He nodded sagely.

"And, well, it's freezing out," she reminded, "so-"

"Frostbite," he guessed. "Ah. Yes. That would be most unfortunate!"

"Mm-hmm."

He reached out to touch her 'tail-sock.' He quacked. "That," he emphasized, flapping his feathered arms, "is the cutest! Ever!"

Meadow flushed self-consciously. "Will you stop? You're making everyone stare."

"But you're so-"

"I don't feel cute. I feel silly." Supremely so. And stupid. Don't forget stupid. All bundled up with somewhere to go, she finally walked toward the exit. "Anyway, I'm sure there are mouses and rats in the Big Apple. Our peculiarities can't be that surprising to you."

The duck quickly waddled after her. "Oh, yeah, we have 'em. More rats than ... mouses, you say? I always thought it was mice. Must be a regional thing."

"Must be," she echoed.

"But I guess I never paid any attention to what they wore."

Meadow pushed open the glass door. The cold was immediate. And biting. Ugh. She winced, bracing herself for the elements. "I suppose you were more interested in what they weren't wearing?" She lowered her head and ventured out.

Rodo followed, his feathers wavering in the wind. Snow swirled around them, fluffy and powdery at the same time. It was still falling. But what had already fallen was drifting around. "I, uh, wouldn't presume to think that far ahead with anyone I met." His webbed feet crunched in the snow, leaving wacky 'footprints' in their wake.

"A true gentle-bird, huh?" The mouse's breath billowed about her like a special effect. "Where ... which way?"

"Over there. See?" The duck pointed with a feathered hand. "Just follow me, yeah?"

"Right."

"I'll go slow. No traffic, so-"

"Right," she said again, eager to get to it. And even more eager to get out of the cold. It was seeping through her clothing.

The duck straightened his posture. "Okay. Um. See you ... see you there, I guess?" He went and got into his rental car. It started easily.

Meadow's car, on the other paw, took a few seconds to get going. The engine turned choppily. Ker-clunk, ker-clunk, whir-whir-whir!

It took less than a minute to get into the hotel parking lot. The mouse stopped in the first spot she could find. The hotel was only three stories tall, nothing fancy or intimidating. Only a third of the lights were on. It was nearing ten-o'clock.

Rodo came up beside the mouse and put an arm around her. Then withdrew it. Then put it around her again. Then-

"It's fine. I'm not going to bite," she assured. "I may nibble a bit, but ... "

He chuckled. Perhaps a bit too much. But he couldn't hide how nervous he was as he secured that arm around her. He was actually trembling. It could've been from the temperature, but-

"It's okay," the mouse reiterated, her breath fogging around her muzzle. It left vapor on her whiskers, which in turn froze into tiny little icicles.

Rodo remained quiet.

They went in through the main door and the warmth was immediate. Meadow sighed, ripping off her ear-mittens and tail-sock and shoving them into her pockets. Those things might be 'cute,' but they're suffocating to wear. I hate them! Especially when they covered bits that weren't used to being covered. Felt unnatural.

"Elevator's this way," the duck said, waddling past her. He nodded to the feline stationed at the customer service desk.

Stopping in front of the closed elevator, Meadow rubbed at her cheeks. A very mouse-like gesture, to be sure. She wiped the ice from her whiskers and squeaked. "I guess I'd rather winter be winter than a weak facsimile, but it's still my least-favorite season."

"I prefer it to fall," Rodo said, pressing the button for floor number two. Then they waited. In silence, at first. "So, should I come up with an official excuse to invite you up? Some pretense? That's what they do in romantic comedies."

"I, uh, don't drink coffee," she said quietly.

"Ha, ha! I wouldn't dream of using such a tired euphemism. Anyway, that's your generation. My generation is all 'Netflix and chill.' Though this hotel doesn't have Netflix." He seemed nonplussed for a second. "I don't think any do, actually." Then his eyes lit up. "But we could still chill!" He looked left, then right, and elaborated, "And by chill, I mean-"

"I know what you mean," she interrupted, ears getting red. "But I'm cold enough. I'd prefer to get hot."

"That can be arranged," Rodo said under his breath.

The elevator arrived and opened for them.

They both stepped inside and turned around, heavy metal doors sliding shut with a bright 'ding!'

Rodo pressed the button for the second floor.

"You said winter's your favorite season?" Meadow pressed. "Why?"

"Not my favorite. I just don't mind it. Fall's on the decline. The downward slide. Always felt a bit melancholy to me. At least, with winter, you're already there, at rock bottom, and are slowly coming out of it. It's more hopeful, somehow."

"Interesting interpretation," she said, not agreeing with it at all.

"Well, it also has the most holidays. It's just a cozier time. Taking stock and celebrating, waiting for what's next! I also associate fall with the start of school." He made a face. "September is synonymous with 'sick to my stomach.' So glad that's done."

"Ah, yeah. I've been out of school so long," Meadow remarked lightly. "I almost forget what it was like. I think I've blocked it from my mind like a trauma." She rocked back and forth, filled with adrenaline. "Wasn't really worth it."

"Didn't you learn anything?"

"I learned that knowledge only gets you so far in this world," she said, more cynically than she'd intended.

The duck shifted his weight from side to side.

Meadow closed her eyes. Her pulse was quickening. This is becoming second-nature to you. Meeting random males and engaging in not-so-random acts. How can you possibly be on edge? And don't say 'because I'm a-

The elevator came to a stop and released them.

Rodo gestured for the female to proceed first.

"I don't know what room you're-"

"Two-ten," he said. "Right at the end."

Meadow nodded, and as she walked had a sudden concern. "Do, uh ... do you think economy hotels have soundproof walls?"

"I thought mouses were quiet?"

Her ears turned beet red. "Most of the time."

Rodo's eyes widened.

Reaching the door to his room, the mallard swiped a key-card. A tiny light turned red to green and there was a sharp click. He pushed on the handle and swung the door inward, ushering the rodent inside. He put out the 'do not disturb' sign and locked it behind them. Taking a deep breath, he removed his jacket and reached for the light switch.

"No," she whispered. "Leave it off."

"You sure?"

She nodded wordlessly. The curtains had been drawn. The glow of the streetlights through the windows made things visible enough. From the looks of it, the snow was falling even harder than it'd been a few minutes ago.

"I'm ... w-what do you want to ... to do," the duck started, struggling with his words, "first?"

"Probably undress?" the mouse replied, heart hammering in her breast. She dropped her purse and shrugged her own coat off.

"Right. Yeah! That's kinda ... important." He lifted his arms, tearing off his shirt.

Meadow watched him. His chest was sleek. She could hardly see the texture of his feathers. They were so fine. But, in undressing, he'd flex just so, and she'd make them out. She wanted to reach out and touch them, ruffle them. How different did they feel compared to fur? If she nuzzled him, what would his scent be like? She had so many questions. And the thought of answering them was making her loins damp. _ _

"Do ... do you like it?" He showed off his full 'wingspan' for her, turning in a slow circle. "Er, do you like me?" he asked.

She responded by reaching out to stroke his chest. With the grain of his feathers and then against them.

He made a throaty noise.

Meadow pressed her pink, sniffy nose against the middle of his chest, breathing in slowly, deeply. "Mm."

Rodo hugged her and started to sway.

After a moment, she lifted her own arms, arching out of her own shirt. With an additional writhe and wriggle, she lost her bra. She fought the urge to cover her breasts with her paws, instead letting them hang loose and free.

Rodo, fascinated, reached down to caress them. He squeezed one and cupped the other, making sure to rub his feathers against her hard, fleshy nipples. He could see her shiver at the sensation. "I feel like I'm going to faint. You should come with a health warning," he whispered, bending down to kiss her. On the way, he mumbled, "Speaking of health, are we both, um ... I don't know how to bring this up ... "

"I'm safe," she assured.

"Oh. Good." He quacked nervously. "Me ... me, too!"

"You were going to kiss me?"

"Mm-hmm." He eagerly resumed the attempt.

The golden-furred mouse raised to the tips of her bare foot-paws. She'd never kissed a bird before. It was a little awkward, at first. Her nose bumped into his hard bill. They couldn't quite connect. She squeaked. He squawked, pulling back, tilting his head, and repositioning. They had to compromise. He ended up bill-nibbling on her while she mouthed and sucked on his face.

While this went on, he began working his pants down.

Meadow did the same. Panties, too. She was completely in the fur now, breasts heaving, eyes dilated. She kicked her clothes away, as if that made her nakedness official. She watched as Rodo removed his final garment, his cotton briefs. They were bulging. And when they were peeled away, his avian cock sprung forth, deep-red and slightly curved. Not as different as she'd expected. But different enough to make her weak at the knees. I want to taste it, touch it! Oh, I want it inside me!

Rodo clearly wanted all the same, for he was achingly stiff, glistening at the tip. He began shuffling back toward the bed, bringing Meadow with him. His legs hit the mattress. Knees buckling, he sat down.

The mouse straddled his lap, pushing on his chest.

With a quack, the duck was on his back. Partly, anyway. He gently pried the mouse off his body long enough to pull his legs onto the bed. He then sprawled out in the middle, motioning for her to follow him, to lay atop him.

For a minute, that's all they did. Lay there, nuzzling and cuddling, sharing each other's warmth. Forgetting that it was the dark depths of winter. But Meadow, growing impatient, rose up and turned. She reversed her direction. "I hope ... hope you don't mind," she panted, lowering herself into a clear sixty-nine.

Rodo wasn't able to form a response. He just stared at her furry pussy. The golden tufts on either side. The dewy, pink flesh peeking like an oasis amidst it all. She was wet. She was ripe and ready. The duck's agile tongue wormed forth, parting her petals and swirling around in search of nectar. His taste buds were instantly rewarded.

Meadow squeaked, panting audibly. Her breaths washed over his cock. What a specimen it was! She kissed the side of the shaft, drifting toward the base. His loin-feathers were so downy, and his sac? His swollen orbs were shrouded by impossibly light down. He's like a pillow. Or a cloud. And they radiated such heat. She tried to suck one into her maw, moaning lightly from the throat. One, then the other, and then dragging her tongue up his cock in one, incredibly torturous lick.

The duck's webbed feet stretched on the bed. His arms surrounded his new lover. He had his emerald-green head at a tilt, to better make his bill parallel her sex. As her ropy tail dangled above them both, he allowed his tongue to swipe up and down, up and down. He teased her clitoris for a bit. When she squirmed, her pleasure evident, he angled his tongue-tip toward her vagina.

"Ah-h!" she cried out, eyes fluttering. Something had changed. He was no longer licking. He was ... is he tongue-fucking me? "Oh!" Her golden muzzle hung over his glans, and she opened wide. Time to return the favor. With a deep breath, she kissed his tip and allowed her lips to slide downward. She covered him, swallowed him up. Inch by inch, his member disappeared inside her, tongue cradling the bottom of the shaft and jaw open wide enough to avoid nicking him with her buckteeth. Careful. Slowly, she stopped, suckled, and began to ease back up.

"Uhn-f," grunted Rodo, his tongue tensing. He gave a fanciful swirl. The mouse made a throaty noise. Oh, he wanted to keep going, to never let up! She was so hot. She tasted different from anyone he'd ever been with. But his tongue and jaw were starting to cramp. He had to slow his ministrations to rest his muscles. Just for a moment, at least. He was out of practice! He used the downtime to bill-nibble her sensitive regions and to show his vocal pleasure at her own attentions.

Meadow was bobbing up and down on his cock, now. No pauses. Just a smooth, slick sliding, suckling here and there and doing her best to stimulate his tip. She danced her tongue upon it, allowed her lips to graze over it, coming so close to pulling off of him but never breaking contact. Her paw fondled his downy balls.

Overcome with lust, Rodo started back up again. Only, in his enthusiasm, his tongue skipped her pussy altogether. His bill lifted a few inches, and-

Meadow stopped mid-way up his penis, eyes popping open. A muffled squeak emanated from her throat. What ... w-what the ... what's he doing? She'd never felt this particular sensation before. It took her a moment, in her sensual, hazy state, to realize-

The duck's tongue was poking at her tail-star. And not daintily, either. He was trying to part it.

The mouse's tail whipped at him, harmlessly.

Rodo paused, head flopping back onto a pillow. "Y-yes ... mm? What's wrong?" he panted.

Meadow pulled off his cock. It bobbled in front of her. She swallowed. "You're ... why were you licking there?"

"Why not?"

"W-well," she stammered.

"Did it feel good?"

Her ears were red-hot. She could feel them throbbing with blood. "That's ... I'm not used to that. I don't know."

The duck, rubbing her back reassuringly, said, "I'll stop if it makes you uncomfortable. I just, uh ... I sorta ... " He cleared his throat. "I sorta don't mind it."

Meadow sat up, immediately regretting it. Her head spun. All the blood was in her ears. She almost flopped over. She lowered herself to all fours, hardly able to think. "M-maybe we should, uh ... mix it up."

"So, what do you-"

"I'm ready to graduate from oral," she elaborated.

"Oh, my!" He quacked. "I ... oh, uh ... say, would you be open to a suggestion? In regards to that?"

"Go ahead."

"Would you want to make love in the shower? Standing up?"

She flushed. "Um ... "

"I'll hold you, firmly yet gently. Pin you to the wall. My weight against yours. Mm, ducks and water? Like you said. I'll be in my element." He groped at her body. "I'll also be in you."

"I could ... I could live with that," she decided. Oh, yes. Yes, I could.

"I thought so."

Slowly, they disengaged. Rodo raised up, getting out of bed and reaching down for the mouse, who rolled onto her back and looked up at him coyly.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I just hope I'm not hungover in the morning."

"But you only had one drink?"

"Yeah, but you're as potent as ... three, four drinks?"

"And how would you know?"

"I just had a taste." She grinned.

"Oh. Right. Heh ... " He stood straight and tall and puffed out his avian chest. "Well, a hangover is a form of dehydration. And, like I said: I'm all about hydration. I'm a duck. So, let's go get in the water."

Meadow didn't move, however. She continued to lay nakedly on the bed-sheets. "All the blood's gone to my ears. I'll get dizzy." She arched seductively. "Carry me."

Rodo sucked air. "If, uh ... if you insist," he said, fighting the urge to fall upon her here and now. They could shower later! But, no. He managed to control himself. Barely. Bending down, he pulled the mouse toward him. Her arms went around his neck. Upon further lifting, her legs wrapped around his hips. Once he was certain she was secure, he turned and waddled to the bathroom.

Once there, he flicked the bathroom light on, then slid open the glass door to the shower stall. Next came the water. He fiddled with the nobs, making sure a hot stream poured out. Steam slowly filled the roomy stall.

"Rodo," Meadow breathed impatiently.

"Mm-h?" he went. It was almost a purr.

"I'm wet."

"That you are," he confirmed, noting that her butterscotch fur took on a slightly darker hue when soaked. She felt slightly heavier, too.

"I mean I'm ... I need it. Need you. Now!"

"Feeling's ... mm-h, mutual. Mm." He pinned her to the wall, letting her back slide down a bit. He leaned in, chest pressing to her breasts. They squished deliciously against him. His orange-colored webbed feet slapped on the wet floor as he spaced them apart, hips lifting, grinding between her wide-open legs.

Her clitoris was hard and tingling. She reached down between them with one arm and began to rub it furiously. The other remained hooked around Rodo's green neck. He didn't look wet at all. He was impervious. The water practically bounced off him, as if he was covered in an invisible oil.

She gasped, head lolling aside as he penetrated her, slowly pushing himself in. And not stopping, either, not until he was balls-deep. Her walls fluttered around the intrusion, desiring more. More friction. More mallard. More!

Rodo provided it, pulling back and surging forward and up, forward and up. Repeatedly. He humped her against the wall. She slid a few inches this way and that. Up and down. Side to side, wriggling hotly. "Yes," she urged. "Yes ... "

The duck wondered if he shouldn't slow down and change his rhythm or technique. Perhaps apply a little more finesse? But the mouse kept urging him on, and he kept obliging, and soon they lost track of everything. They just bred, desperately, his smooth, red cock squelching as he drilled her pussy. The sounds were audible above that of the splashing water. His down mixed with her fur. Hips slapped, paws grasped.

Meadow arched, rubbing her clitoris a few more times before throwing both arms around him again. "Mm, mm ... mm-h ... " Her prehensile tail snaked around his thigh, the tip touching his knee.

He could see what she meant about not being quiet all the time. He'd barely made a sound other than heavy breathing. She couldn't keep quiet! In spite of his low decibels, however, he was very much enjoying himself, drawing closer and closer toward his inevitable release. There was no thwarting it. There was no going back. He was committed. And he began thrusting harder.

"Ah! Ah-h ... "

He nibbled on her whiskers with his bill. "Hit a special spot?" he asked between breaths.

"Do ... do it again," was all she said. Her voice took on a needy, husky tone.

He obliged without delay.

She writhed, steering his cock in a dozen different directions, her walls starting to ripple and squeeze around it.

"Ooh," the duck finally went. He couldn't hold it back. And he was having trouble holding her. His muscles were growing weak with pleasure. He had to lean forward entirely, putting all his weight against her. He let his hips do the work. "Ooh, oh ... oh, yeah ... " His penis was tingling. He buried himself inside her, resting his bill in her head-fur between those big, blushing ears. "Oh, Meadow, I'm gonna ... ah, I'm gonna cum!" He began quacking as he lost it.

The mouse felt on fire as she felt him explode. His cock pulsed, twitched, and unloaded, flooding her womb with seed. Bird seed. She was sure there was a joke in there somewhere, but she was too addled to find it. Or even care. Her brain began to light up as her loins sent it increasingly frantic signals.

As the duck's orgasm tapered off, the mouse's began. Her walls began to spasm, to clench. Waves of euphoria were flung to all her extremities. Her eyes squeezed shut. She might've even squirted. She was dripping with so much water, it was hard to tell. But she felt like she had. She chittered and squeaked pitifully, nibbling on the duck's neck. "Mm-f ... nn-h ... " Her tail went limp and dangled, whiskers drooping.

Rodo nuzzled her.

"Oh ... " She struggled to breathe. Her legs, one by one, fell from his hips and to the floor. She weakly stood, slumped against the wall, and the duck slumped in turn against her.

He ran his fingers through her damp, matted fur. The water was still running. "Mm. So nice," he murmured.

"Mm-hmm," was her lazy reply.

"You're even smiling! And I didn't have to prompt you."

"Oh, you 'prompted' me, ducky."

"Ha! I suppose I did. Without words, I meant." He touched his bill to her nose. "Mousey."

She hugged on him, tightly. "You turned my entire night around," she whispered. "You turned a disaster into a celebration." I don't believe in fate. I really don't. But, sometimes, I wonder ...

"And you made a routine business trip a lot more memorable," he breathed, pulling out of the mouse. "I don't think I'll ever forget it." He was already starting to shrink. He maneuvered them both beneath the shower stream to wash them clean.

When they were done, Meadow used her tail to grip the handle and turn the water off.

Rodo reached for a towel and handed it to her. "Heh, I don't really need it. I'm self-drying."

"Must come in handy."

"I'm the only one around who doesn't need an umbrella in the rain."

Stepping out of the shower, the mouse made a show of patting herself down while the duck watched with wide-eyed admiration. A few years ago, a few partners ago, you wouldn't have gotten so comfortable so quickly. You're learning to accept yourself. And your sexuality. Finally. She smiled again. She just couldn't stop. Afterglow was a beautiful thing. "Here." She tossed him the towel.

He hung it up and grabbed her rump as she walked past him.

Meadow squeaked! "I didn't know ducks goosed."

"Don't tell anyone." He winked.

Together, they went back to the bed. They got on it and underneath the covers. The lights were off. The snow was still falling outside. The world was cold, miserable, and full of horrible problems. But, for the moment, their intimacy insulated them from that. It kept them warm. And sane. And safe.

"Rodo," she whispered after a squeaky yawn.

"Mm?" he went wearily, his eyes closed.

"I twitch in my sleep."

"That's okay, mousey. I don't wake easily. I have very vivid dreams."

"You'll have to tell me about them over breakfast." She paused, cuddling up to his downy chest. "Maybe we should skip the buffet downstairs, though. I know an excellent place across the street. You meet the most interesting creatures there ... "