FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Today is the day you finally meet her. You exit the elevator onto the top floor of the skyscraper amid the throng of tourists and are instantly hit by the blast of cold air that stings your eyes and chills your bones. Shoving your gloved hands into your pockets, scarf blowing in the wind, you try to find the least crowded spot on the observation deck, a tall task given the New Year’s Eve celebrations in progress. A spot near the elevator is as good as any, given that most of the crowd is clustered near the railing, snapping photos and recording video of the city skyline in the late evening sun. It is starting to flurry, the expanse looking like the inside of the snow globes sold at the tourist traps on the street fifty stories below. You don’t mind the cold, since it is the time of year that your body becomes obscured beneath a bundle of coats, hats, gloves, and scarves, when you could seemingly be anyone within that protective cocoon, despite your 6’3” frame giving most strangers a decent idea. Of course, the time of year also comes with the seasonal depression, but the pros outweigh the cons. You try to resist the urge to check your phone, her message already memorized after the first dozen times you looked at it, but give in and look anyway, your heart leaping every time you see it. Her profile photo shows up first, her soft smile infectious, her eyes so kind and full of empathy, the countenance of someone who hasn’t let the hardships of the world damper her spirit one bit. Her message follows: [i]See you soon, babe! <3[/i] with a picture attached, of her flashing a peace sign with the mountains behind her, hair blowing in the wind. You met on Discord in a community server, just two users among hundreds interested in horror movies. When you left a comment with a reference to an obscure VHS-only release from the 90s, she replied immediately, shocked that someone else had seen it too. After a brief back and forth, you moved the conversation to a solo chat where you messaged for hours, your personalities clicking instantly. No matter the topic, whether it be video games, sports, politics, media, you were on the same wavelength. It became part of your daily routine to chat with her, catching each other up on what was going on in day to day life. But still, at that point, you only knew each other’s usernames, some parts of your lives never asked about or volunteered. That was fine with you, though. Parts of you were a work in progress, an open question you were trying to come to terms with. She sent her first selfie a few weeks later out of the blue. You weren’t sure what was more shocking: the fact she was an anthropomorphic wolf, or that she was five hundred feet tall. She was seated in between a mountain range, the morning sun shining on her gray fur, a strained smile on her lips. [i]Please don’t be mad I didn’t say anything sooner. I didn’t know how to bring it up. Can we still be friends?[/i] Sure, you knew giants existed, but they stuck to themselves in their isolated part of the world, only rarely venturing out to human settlements. Logistical questions arose, like was her phone giant too? Did giants have the Internet? How did she know so much about human interests? But none of that mattered. It was clear from her message and photo that she had shared something deeply personal with someone she trusted. Of course you still wanted to be her friend. Who she was didn’t change a thing. And being able to say you were friends with a giant was pretty cool too. And yet, you hesitated to respond. Surely a reply warranted a photo of your own, but as you stared into the bathroom mirror, everything you disliked about your appearance immediately jumped out. You were still living in that weird state of limbo at the time: unhappy with who you saw in the mirror, but too scared/apathetic/dissociated to do anything about it. But your friendship was important to you, a lifeline and one of the few social interactions you had outside of the soul-crushing grind of a dead-end job. Throwing on a hoodie, hair strategically covering as much of your face as possible, you took your own selfie and responded. She was so relieved. You had your first voice chat soon after, and her voice was so melodic, so captivating, so cheery that yours felt like a lumbering, bassy mess in comparison. She started telling you more about her personal life, about living in the giant kingdom, about worries and wishes that transcended height and species, and you reciprocated with a drip feed of your own life, and details you would never dare tell people you had known your whole life but had no problem telling a near stranger. Almost every detail. She had shared something so intimate about herself you would never have known otherwise, while you hid something you increasingly could not hide, something you had only recently accepted about yourself. It took hours to take the photo. You rummaged through the back of your closet for the handful of clothes you had bought over a period of months from Amazon, any thought of trying something on before buying it out of the question. One option fit the best and looked halfway decent on you, so you slipped on the blue sundress, added a touch of makeup learned from YouTube tutorials, and took out your phone, heart pounding. Smiling felt so unnatural, but you did your best, trying to find the right angle to put your facial features in the best light. You imagined her face in the eye of the camera and implored her to show understanding in the same way that you had. Finding the least-bad photo, you sent it quickly before you could stop yourself. You used the exact same text from her message: [i]Please don’t be mad I didn’t say anything sooner. I didn’t know how to bring it up. Can we still be friends?[/i] Minutes passed by in agony as you put your hoodie and pajama pants back on. She was online but not saying anything. Would she block you? Never message you again? In a flash, she was typing, her response coming within moments. [i]You’re beautiful.[/i] You hugged your phone against your chest and sobbed, relieved that your closest online friend, and maybe more than a friend, was still in your life. Moving forward, she never once used the wrong name or pronouns, and you both seemed happier in your video chats, privy to information shared with few, if any, others. Looking at her video feed, it was hard to get the sense of her scale, as the objects within her home were all appropriately giant-sized, and she seemed like a regular woman, albeit one covered in fur. It was only when she took a call outside while on a jog or a stroll that you could see her surroundings and how she dwarfed everything around her. She vented to you about the restrictions of her kingdom, of her lack of mobility to the outside world even after she had spent so long engrossed in human culture. In turn, you confided in her of your struggles with endless waiting lists, of doctors’ visits and approvals needed and the stop-and-go nature of navigating transitioning with no insurance and no money. Whenever you talked about this, she always looked deep in thought, on the verge of saying something but always stopping herself. Weeks later, she said that she may have a solution. And now, you stand on the skyscraper, scanning the horizon for her. A rumble in the distance draws confused murmurs from the crowd but a smile to your lips. Minutes later, she appears from miles away, her steps slow and deliberate from the sea to avoid capsizing ships. The crowd watches in silent horror for a moment before either filming or running screaming to the elevator. All the better for you, since it clears the way to the railing. You’re not sure if she can see you from that distance, but she knows which building to look for, the tallest in the city. You see her spot it and head in your direction, her tail wagging and eyes alight. Your heart pounds, so nervous and excited at the same, a small part of you worried that she won’t feel the same way about you when you finally meet. She is graceful and intentional with each step upon reaching land, her movements as fluid as a dancer despite her size. It takes time for her to navigate through the myriad intersecting streets and step over smaller buildings, made all the more difficult with the New Year’s Eve crowds, but she eventually reaches you. She smiles and moves a strand of hair behind her large canine ear, staring down at you with those piercing, empathetic eyes. Her face takes up the totality of your vision, a face you’ve seen in so many video chats but never in person. Despite her height, despite her sharp teeth and wolfish features and the raw power of her lithe, muscled form, she is soft, intentional, just another young woman trying to find space in a difficult, often uncaring world. “Hi, gorgeous,” she whispers, her voice still loud enough to rival the decibels of a rock concert. She really means it, irony and sarcasm never a part of her vocabulary. You wave and mutter a reply, your voice muffled by your scarf. Now that she is here, the reality of what is about to happen is sinking in. Reality sharpens and the vanilla scent of her fur, the chill of the wind, the feel of your clothing against your skin suddenly feel more real than ever, as if you are experiencing real life for the first time, everything before that moment a mere slideshow presentation happening to a passive participant. She carefully moves her snout over the railing and opens her mouth, revealing her sharp white teeth. The remaining spectators scream and yell, imploring you to flee. You remove a glove and lift your hand to one of her canines, slowly pressing your palm against the sharpened point until you wince, blood drawn. She lifts her head and closes her mouth, eyes alight with expectation and clasping her hands together. You’ve never seen her smile so wide, and it is all you can see. You step back from the railing and stare down at the blood beading on your palm, feeling as a tangible force flows through your bloodstream. It races down your arm, hits your core, then explodes in every direction, filling your entire being. Your clothing grows tight, and tufts of brown fur sprout across your body. There is no time to remove your clothing as it begins to tear and, besides, you won’t need it anymore anyway. The awestruck spectators around you grow smaller, and her face grows closer as you dance in place, laughing with glee. Your body is soon completely covered in a thick layer of fur. Your spine lengthens and distends from your body, becoming a tail that won’t stop wagging. Your fingernails sharpen into pointed claws and your toenails slice through your shoes, feet becoming digitigrade. You rip off your hat, long hair blowing in the breeze, new canine ears picking up sounds well outside the range of human hearing. The changes hurt, but what’s a bit of momentary pain to finally get what you always wanted? As you grow steadily taller, you become aware of the non-canine transformation taking place. The inconsistent effects of hormones taken whenever you can scrounge them together suddenly accelerate, like years of injections all at once. The hard, angular lines of your body soften and curve, all traces of the masculine obliterated. You burst from your remaining clothing like a butterfly escaping its cocoon, reborn. Staring down at your body, you see the results of so many doctor’s visit, surgeries, post-op healing, paperwork, and insurance you could never afford staring back at you, albeit beneath your new fur. You no longer feel like hiding yourself and can never do so again, considering the quickly approaching endpoint. Smiling, laughing, unable to stop dancing, you run on your fast, strong, canine legs and leap off the railing into her hands, clutching her thick fur. You are large enough to be held like an infant now, and she holds you close, her voice a rich vibration consuming your body. You are twenty feet tall, thirty, forty. Your feet struggle for purchase against her chest, her abdomen, and she adjusts her handhold on you to continue holding you. She eventually has to set you down, and your feet touch solid ground. You stare into her eyes, matching her height. You are both smiling, and silent, tears dotting your vision. With shouts of joy, you throw your arms around one another, pulling each other in so close it’s like you almost merge together. Her fur is so rich and soft, and she is so strong, so physical, so tangible after such a long time getting to know each other virtually. “Are you real? Is any of this actually real?” you ask, glancing around at the tiny skyscrapers. It is a dream come true, and fear creeps in that you might wake up, back in your old life. She hold your head in her hands and kisses you deeply on the lips, her own lips soft and inviting. Your worries melt away as you lean in, holding her close. When you eventually separate, she takes your hand and guides you through the city, pointing out where to step with your new, giant, canine feet. The surrounding world feels so small, so inconsequential, a marker from a previous, discarded life. No more dead-end job. No more unsupportive family. No longer having to navigate a world in a body you couldn’t call your own. When you reach the sea, you move more freely, the cold winter air hardly a concern given your thick, warm fur. She has left her world, and you are leaving yours at the end of the old year and the birth of the new. Paw in paw, you venture into the ocean to experience this new life together.