FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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_ Author's Note: this story is part of my “Boverse" setting, taking place long after the events of “Bovine Parents" and “The Interim"._

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Molly Bradshaw — Moll or Molls to those closest to her — turned off of the main road and slowed her car. Travelling down the side-road, she navigated a couple of twists and turns, having come some ways out from the nearby town. The noisy interchange disappeared behind her; as she drove she saw a large building. Nondescript. Nothing untoward outside, nothing suggesting its purpose...except perhaps a small sign. Made of neon tubing, entitled: 'Violetta'.

Violetta, she thought, alone in the car. Sounds like it could be anything.

Just couldn't resist putting your name on things, huh Vi?

A soft smile formed across her lips. Its tell-tale curl in the corner of her mouth fed from a longing — a sense of anticipation that ran from head-to-toe. Molly gently pressed the brake pedal as she emerged into the open space.

Pulling into a the asphalt lot in front of the venue, she found a place to park. It was off-hours, according to the schedule she'd been given, and nobody was around except for one or two of the staff. And Violet, an old friend of Molly's. Shortened to Vi by many, Molly had been waiting to see her. Dying to see her, even, after their reunion two weeks ago.

The smooth concrete facade was plenty weathered. Grey and brown tones mixed in a dull manner, belying an office block or warehouse. Or a mall. Molly knew the truth, however. Truth told to her a while back. Truth that she wanted a piece of.

Well Vi, she whispered under-breath, I'm here. I'm ready to join.

* * *

Two Weeks Earlier

A long-awaited union of four old friends lit up the otherwise dour day. From mid-morning 'til evening they cruised about town, ending their adventure in a nice restaurant that one recommended for serving excellent seafood dishes. This group included Molly, and three other ladies: Violet, who shared a hometown with Molly, though in the years since leaving had ranged far and wide; Angela, Violet's old flame; and Beatrice, their friend from Britannia, her visit overdue after the once-inseparable trio had long since divided and pursued their own paths in work and life. All four women had seen and done much, and it showed in the mature palates of each. Their taste for conversation matched their discerning orders — sending wait staff to find the finest foodstuffs for their celebration.

Three flutes of champagne clinked together as the light began to fade. Summertime left much of the day unperturbed by darkness, but even without checking the date everyone could feel the cold creep of Autumn scraping the fringe of their lives. The clock struck seven, and the bustle of the restaurant kept their chatter restricted to themselves.

“Again!" Vi proclaimed, forcing her glass back to the centre of the table. Two of the friends followed suit. Another clink, delicate enough to be heard by those involved, but silent against the noise around them. Their laughter fared no better. Even deep guffaws were lost in the mire of sound.

“Ah, c'mon — let me drink already," Beatrice groaned. Impatient, she started to sip, ignoring the other's games.

As time passed, and the food had been devoured, there was a changing of places. Ladies shuffled over to a preferred conversation partner, eager for news.

“So Bea," asked Molly, “when is your flight home?"

“Next week," she replied, putting away a handkerchief, “it's gonna be a long-haul getting back." Her accent made her stand out from the others. A different bent when it came to words. She tended to dip into coarser speech the more she drank, a fact the amused her friends since their college days.

“How many hours?"

“Oh...ten, twelve, I think. Depends if I have a layover." She paused, apparently in thought. “Actually, I should double-check that."

As Beatrice rushed to find her phone, fishing it from her purse, Molly glanced over at Violet and Angela, who were busy catching up.

“For real?" she heard Angela say.

“Yep. I run the club."

“No way! What's it like working with...y'know..."

“What? D'ya mean what they do or what they are?"

“Uhhh..." Her sense of incredulity waned as confusion took over. “B-both...I guess..."

Molly rested her elbows on the table, cradling her head as she listened.

“They're as normal as you or I," she explained, smirking, “well...the job's quite...sensual, but that's—"

A crash interrupted Molly's eavesdropping. Somewhere, a few tables away, a waiter had spilled something. She turned to find the source of the commotion, double-checking it wasn't anything serious. Her head soon snapped back to the conversation between Violet and Angela.

“—for you!"

“Vi!" Angela swatted her friend's shoulder. “I have to say, I never thought you'd be into owning a business like that."

“What?" the other woman snorted, “you think I'd end up a prude? No way. Besides, it's strictly business."

Molly chuckled. That was just like Vi, she thought, mind always on the money. If she didn't know any better, one might think Violet to be ruthless. But Molly knew better. Past that businesslike exterior — evidenced by her quite formal clothes, odd for a get-together like this — was a good friend. A loyal friend. A friend she could rely on, and did.

Especially now.

“Angie," she said, at last joining the pair, “what's Vi been filling your head with?"

“Oh nothing. She's been telling me about her work. Did you know that she runs a—"

“Yeah, I did," Molly said quickly. “Been talking to her for a while I see."

“Yep," Violet coughed, moving cutlery around until she was satisfied with their symmetry. “Angie's been very interested in the make-up of my staff."

“I've never seen 'em in person."

“Sheen whath," Bea blurted out, divorcing her attention from the handsome waiter who'd just topped off her latest drink — something dark brown and strong-smelling. “Whoze never sheen 'em'?"

“You know," Angie whispered, enough to clear the distance between the table, “hybrids."

“Fowt dey were called anfros," she said, mangling her native tongue.

Violet simply grinned. “Yeah, that works too. Hybrids. Anthros. Whatever floats your boat."

“Vi, you still haven't told me what they're like...in person..."

An eyebrow was raised. “Are you trying to ask about something else?"

“Well..." Angela turned a shade of red. “There are rumours."

“Rumours, eh? Well then, fill me in on those rumours."

“Oh! I got it!" Bea cried, before being hushed by the others. “Itz whaht dey say, yeah? Once you try fur...you won't ever...uhhh...ever..."

“Recur?" Molly offered.

“That's a shit choice of words," Violet joked, “you should be ashamed of yourself. Mangling perfectly good Inglish like that. At least Bea has the common courtesy to be born in the right country to abuse it."

“Oh shut up Vi, not all of us got degrees in the subject."

“No that's right," Angela said, pointed to Violet and Molly in sequence, “you were the one who majored in literature, and you were...what was it again? Oh, psychology. But you were always more interested in nightclubs than studying."

“We all were," Molly replied, keeping the mood light, “none of us were model students."

“Buh sum of us were stuhdent models!" Bea added.

“Hah! But seriously, you know your way around a dance floor, Molls. Right? What do you think of Vi's work?"

“Angie, I know all about Vi's work."

“Have you been?"

“What?"

“Have you gone to a show? And seen them for real?"

“No, I haven't." But that might all change soon, Molly told herself, in more ways than one.

It would be much more fun if I could tell them. She glanced at Violet, who surely knew what she was thinking. Seeing her head shake, Molly left it at that.

“Well have you ever done it?"

“Huh?" Distracted by her wordless exchange with Violet, Molly felt a little flustered. Angela stared at her, eyes shimmering in the gold-tinged light of the restaurant.

“Don't play stupid, Molls. Have you ever done any exotic dancing?"

Molly paused, sucking in breath. After a minute's bloated silence, she answered: “yes. I have."

“Thought I remembered correctly!" Angie declared. “You did work late every other weekday. Knew you were earning something considering the loans we took."

“What can I say," she said, shrugging, “I had a nice ass."

“Still do," Violet said, letting another half-smirk escape her controlled visage. “Twenty years later, and still rockin' a dancer's bod."

“No that's too kind. Be realistic. I've put on plenty of weight since then."

“Could always lose it," Angela murmured, “if you wanted to get back into the game."

“The 'game'!?" Molly barked out a conflicted laugh. “I'm not a hooker!"

“Yeah Angie," Bea supported her friend, only partially understanding the exchange, “sheez no prozzie!"

The moment moved on from talk of exotic dancing, much to Molly's relief. Another knowing look shared between herself and Violet said more between them than anything audible. They think I've still got it, her mind flared in a fit of pride, see Vi, it's not just me who thinks they can flaunt themselves.

Violet leaned close to Molly, and whispered into her ear: “I know, I know...that's why I made you the offer."

Taken aback by the mind-reading prowess of her friend, Molly jerked to the side. Looking back at Violet she saw her giggle as she returned to her seat. Yes, an offer had been made. And yes...it was a job offer. One that spurred thoughts in Molly's mind that had long lain dormant. A fizzle of youthful exuberance told her to entertain the idea, and they discussed it over the phone before the reunion.

Violet's words were persuasive. Coated in silken promise. There wasn't reason to resist, except the daunting prospect of changing one's life forever. Molly felt like she was ready. What did she care if others thought it was too extreme. Can't a girl revitalise her life?

Or better yet, start a second one?

The memory of their deal fresh in her mind, Molly grew tired. A tad too much alcohol had been imbibed between all four of them, Beatrice the worst affected (obviously). Talk instead switched from one lewd topic to another, and whether for good or ill, anthros were involved.

“So Vi, who's the most handsomest of all your employees?" Angela asked, her craving for knowledge on this topic inexhaustible.

“C'mon Angie, trying to get me admit fraternisation? For shame."

“C'mon Vi!"

“C'mon Angie!"

“Ever thought about trying it then?" she changed tack in her questioning.

“I won't say yes or no to that," Violet teased, “but I'll leave you guessing."

“Well I can't afford to 'go feral', y'know. Husband, kids, and everything." Angie prodded Violet's shoulder, memories of eager experimentation far from either of their minds. “Pleaaassseee let me live vicariously though youuu!!!"

“Going 'feral', eh? That's what folks are calling it now?"

“Bit judgy," said Molly, looking for a waiter to ask for a second helping of dessert. “Saying 'feral', isn't it?"

Violet lowered her gaze. “I'd be inclined to agree. Hybrids aren't animals, but I'm sure my second-in-command will get a good laugh out of this conversation."

“So is it a he or she? This second-in-command. He — I bet my life! You'd be too love-struck to have a powerful, ambitious woman beneath you. But a guy? No problem there. Not your style. So tell me: is he a hunk? Tall? Muscles? What kind of animal is he a—"

“Anshee," Beatrice said, “yor reahlly gettin' into it."

“Sue me! Is he the dark, mysterious type? Or gentle and caring? I need details!"

“Okay then," Violet laid her palms on the table, “what would you like me to tell you? I have a feeling there's a mental picture in that head of yours that won't line up with anything I say. Although, I will say that he is tall and has muscles, yes."

“Is he—what's the word—bovine?"

“Eh?"

“Is he a bull?"

“N-no...why do you ask?"

Angela froze. “Oh, no reason." Realisation dawned on the other three as the notion that she had a type became clear as day.

“Oh my God," Molly cooed, “it's true isn't it? You have a thing for bull hybrids!"

“Nuh-oh! Just wanted to ask a few questions."

“Well we get to ask some back," Violet said, spurring on Beatrice and Molly's jovial intent. The teasing came quick and fast, joy found in the fact they might never let her live this down.

Angela, ever the one to refuse what she'd inadvertently revealed, offered an explanation: “bovines are the only ones I hear about."

“There are other species," Violet said, “the rest of you might not know any, but that's no excuse for stereotyping. Besides, I think you like the idea of role-playing a dairy cow — and having a handsome bull milk you—"

“No...look, stop! I just mean in terms of there's an awful lot of them in Barson, and other states too I'm sure. They're in government there, aren't they? So I see them on the news a lot."

“And that's what lead you to your...ahem...kink, is it? I love a good conspiracy theory, whaddya reckon ladies? Angie, poor human woman, is captured by the bovine illuminati who secretly run the country. She's taken, and—"

“Okay Vi," Molly interrupted, “I think it's your turn to lay off the hooch." Dismissing their chat, she gestured towards Beatrice, who bowed in her seat and offered the invisible crown of drunkenness to its new, rightful owner. Molly lay a hand on Angela's shoulder and shared a laugh with her, whilst the other hand tugged at the glass of rum and coke that stood next to Violet.

“Let's stop talking about it then," Angela said, “and go back to Molly's sordid past. We can all get a good story out of that."

“Sordid past? Puh-lease, I stripped as a side gig in university. Big deal. Making money on the down-low at parties held by college seniors. I'm sure you did naughty stuff too." C'mon Angie, this again?

“You want me back in business?" she continued, casting a curious eye at her friend.

“Sure! Why not?"

Beatrice grabbed the pair by the shoulders, making fun of these purveyors of filth and fancy. A remark about having the power to make their own choice in life led to a chorus of groans as the cheesy wording of this life lesson gave them all a splitting headache. To top off their last moments together, once they had sufficiently composed themselves with jokes about girl power, the four friends left the restaurant, stepping out into the damp night. Huddling inside thick coats, they parted ways with words of optimism, and happiness...

Happiness borne of their meeting.

Molly waved Beatrice and Angela off as they hailed a taxi. As she did so, Violet sidled up to her. “You know, if you don't want a job with me you can always say so."

“Yeah. But I do."

“You sure?"

Molly turned to Violet. “Sure as I'll ever be. I'm wasted in Tel Los. Dodging attempts at fucking grab-ass from my manager. But here? Hundreds of miles away from that bullshit? With you? That's where I wanna be."

“Molls, I know you want a change. But are you one-hundred-percent sure? You know what my clientele expect and it will be permanent."

“No going back," Molly agreed, nodding her head as her friend gave a sigh. “That's no reason not to."

Violet spoke close to her ear, whisper-quiet. “They won't recognise you. No-one will, except me of course. But if that's what you want then who am I to complain. I just enable you!"

Molly looked up at the sky, before facing Violet with fearless purpose. “Oh I know. Think it'll be a fun surprise if/when us ladies up again, don't you?"

* * *

She could still recall the hangover the next day. Those memories of mirth had already started to fade after a couple of weeks, but Molly was determined to forge ahead with her and Vi's plan.

Which led her to today, marching up to the entrance of Violet's establishment — her club.

Molly stood opposite the solid door, and rapped several times on its subtle exterior. She held her coat close, tight around her chest as a breeze caught her. A tingle in her fingertips slowly spread, coursing gently through her as a warm fuzz as the seconds passed. She was really going ahead with this, wasn't she? Molly put any lingering doubts aside, sure in herself and her intentions. She sucked her cheek, looking to one side as impatience began to creep into her mood.

The door to Violetta swung open, its heavy frame creaking loudly. Beyond it was darkness. The door jammed half-way, jostled by the unknown person moving it. She heard them curse, sounding more like a cough than anything audible, and the shadows shifted. A loud noise broke the breezy ambiance as force was applied to the door, slamming it the rest of the way.

“Stupid," she heard the male voice say, “need that hinge fixed." Attention was drawn away from the door towards her presence, as Molly felt eyes on her. She heard the stranger step forward, his footsteps heavy...pounding.

“Sorry about the door," they said, “it doesn't give the best first impression does it? Looks much nicer all done up at night."

A chuckle followed, and Molly was put at ease. Next, the person moved into the mid-day sunlight, showing Molly who was there to greet her...

A tall, imposing creature. An impossible sight for her former sensibilities. Of course, that changed years ago. Everyone knew about them now. Hybrids. Anthros. Part-human, part...other...

The tall, shapely stallion, with rich matte-black fur, whose figure was currently swathed in short-cut gym clothes, waved at her. “You must be Molly. Boss-lady said you'd be dropping by."

Taken aback by his appearance, Molly muttered, unsure: “is she here?"

“Not yet," the stallion grumbled. He craned his neck, peeking his head either side of the doorway, taking in the empty expressway that led to their club, wondering if Violet was on approach. “Will be soon though. Come on in!"

He cheerily beckoned her inside. Molly hesitated. She was still taking in the sight of her first real hybrid. She noted his animalistic head, preserving enough human expression to let her see he was receptive to her curiosity. His flowing mane that swooped down to a solid pair of broad shoulders. Where his shirt and shorts ended his fur was tufty, unkempt — a sign of recent exercise? She did show up early, after all. Little too early, perhaps? Molly was about to apologise if she was interrupting when the equine spoke again, his upbeat mood unaffected by her intrusion.

“I don't bite," he joked, “c'mon, I though you might want a tour before the boss-lady gets back."

He turned around, and walked inside. Molly watched his tail swish, and his hooves clip-clop as the odd figure grew smaller and smaller as he strolled down the corridor.

Molly took her first step inside.