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Halcyon

Episode 1: Us

This is Candace - I

“No, I don't have a fucking receipt!! Who the fuck even fucking does!?" A loud, angry albino mouse rodere woman. I resist the urge to laugh at her mad screeching and realise I sympathise, if only because I understand her better than most probably can. Everyone is looking at her because of course they are; you'd have to be deaf or have the patience of a saint not to stare at this seething idiot. People of all ages and creeds peer at us from the aisles of the mega-mart and I'm just glad I'm used to being under scrutiny.

I sigh, shrug and bite my tongue, then watch as the poor bastard on the other side of the service counter recovers from recoiling against the shrill scream. Another rodere, this time a brown rat guy who's dressed in his store uniform looks at the t-shirt that's been thrown at the desk in a crumpled heap and does a pretty damn good job at keeping his cool.

“I-I'm real sorry, ma'am, but it's store policy not to-"

“I don't give a flying fuck about your policy! Give me a fucking refund!!"

I watch the albino a little closer just to make sure she isn't just 'normal' crazy. She's shivering with rage, her ears are erect and flushed red as her blood pumps and her gaze flickers about; it's pretty damn obvious she's hopped up on more adrenaline than legendary (and hugely disgraced) rat basketball legend Mitch 'Crazy-Eyes' Bougrade.

She starts to turn around and I quickly look away, then once she's satisfied I'm not glaring at her, she hurls her wrath back at the store worker. I lean to the side and look at his name-tag, which reads 'Hi, my name is Robert'. His continuing struggle against the the ravages of a slim, white furred mouse lady would usually be a typical case of customers being assholes, but there's more than meets the eye here and it's something with which I'm real familiar.

So familiar in fact that I knew this was going to get bad real quick if the stalemate isn't broken, and while I didn't want to get involved, I figure it was either that or someone was gonna get a bloody nose, a busted lip or lose some teeth. Or security arrives and kicks her out, but I don't see anyone stepping in any time soon so I take the plunge.

I step forward and clear my throat. Rob looks at me with a flicker of desperation, then back at the screamer. It's a little surprise that she doesn't seem to catch on, so I tap her on the shoulder and keep my other arm ready for a swing, and say, “excuse me, ma'am?"

She turns and snarls, “the fuck do you want!?"

I turn on my 'service industry' mode, smile gently and respond, “you're right and I get it. The policy doesn't make a great deal of sense. After all, you can see they're still selling the shirt you're trying to return like... right over there," I say and point to a sale rack not thirty feet away, “ so you and I both know you're not trying to pull a fast one, but it's all above Robert's pay-grade." She's listening, focused. Her ears droop a little and her rage simmers down from volatile to... what's a good word? Perturbed? Don't know where that one came from. I blame my boyfriend.

Anyway, since I've dragged her fury down a few notches, I continue, “they just have to make sure some scumbag hasn't grabbed one, done a lap of the store and tried to get a false refund. But let's face it, if anyone was gonna try that, they would use something more expensive. It seems to me you might as well shoot at someone who can get something done, y'know? Force the issue at someone with authority, get what you want and everyone parts ways with no harm done."

The albino woman looks me over and I count the victory as it's clear she's actually thinking instead of reacting. She then turns back to Rob and says, “I want to talk to a manager!"

I'm glad she's looking away and being so goddamn loud she can't hear me, because the smirk on my face almost reaches my ears and I snort as a laugh tries to escape, but I hold back; I wonder if her name starts with a K...

Rob sighs and turns around to a phone on the back desk and I give the woman some space; the fact there's progress being made keeps her cool as she take some long breaths and her trembling all but stops.

I look down an aisle and see a human manager talking to a few more workers. I glance between Rob and the manager receives a call, too quietly for us to overhear, then the manager sighs and heads for the front desk. It's a real moth to a flame thing with the manager lured by the fiery woman, but she storms up to him and they start having a less heated (if still extremely one sided) chat.

With a vacant space to take up, I step up to the counter and place an identical shirt (far less wrinkled and neatly folded) on the counter-top, alongside a receipt.

Rob doesn't even register it for a moment as he pinches his muzzle and sighs, then gives me a weak smile and says, “thanks, ma'am, you're a real lifesaver."

“Hey, it's all good," I say and shrug, “I know you probably get that sort of treatment all the time, but try not to judge her too harshly. I know a Pariah syndrome sufferer when I see one."

“You mean that rodere isolation anxiety thing?" Rob looks at the ongoing debate, with the manager now taking the heat and the lady still venting, then back at me. “I guess I never really thought about it. Still, thanks for the save. So..." he looks at the shirt and receipt and asks, “what seems to be the problem with the product, ma'am?"

“Oh, it's waaay tighter than the listed size."

“Huh, that's strange but alright, no problem." Rob taps away on a touch-screen, scans the receipt, a few more taps and the negative value of the shirt appears on the screen and I hand over my credit card. He looks at it, then the card reader, then does a double take at the fancy, decorative plastic and his eyes widen a little. I roll my eyes in return; I guess most people don't expect someone in her early twenties to have a card most people think belong to guys in business suits. Ain't my fault, it was a recommendation from my boss. Something about security features and such for someone on my income.

Well, I guess I do wear some type of suit at work these days, but it's still a damn uniform. More than anything I count my blessings that I've been given such trust when I'm as young as I am.

“So," Rob clears his throat and I can see him give me a once over. He smooths his muzzle fur down and pinches his shirt collar to neaten up. “You gonna see that new 'Prophecy of the Raothaar' movie? You know, the adaptation of 'Making It'?"

“Maybe," I respond but I know when I'm being hit on. I ain't gonna deny he's kinda cute. Tall rat rodere like him shouldn't be hurting for company, looks like he works out a little too.

He's just no Max. Nobody's like Max. Gold fucking standard that's unmatched if you ask for my opinion, and you should. I know my shit.

“So, like, if you're not doing anything on Saturday...?" he trails off and gives me his best winning smile.

Take the compliment, Candace. You've spent so long busting yourself down and he clearly knows when he's being too creepy.

“Listen, Robert. Can I call you Rob?" I smirk as he shrugs and taps his name tag, then I nod and continue, “Robert it is then. Look, I'm sorry, but I'm seeing someone."

“Ah, right." He slumps and I feel guilty. He whispers, “of course you are." Rob sighs and returns my card, which I slide into a metal, RFID blocker case, close it and slip it into my pocket. Time to save the moment, make it positive and hopefully boost Rob a little.

“But hey, keep your chin up! You're a patient guy to deal with that without losing your shit- uh," I look around and make sure there aren't any kids near by, then continue, “and I can tell you're a hard worker, so stick at it because that'll get you far. Not to mention you've got strong, broad shoulders and you look after yourself. Sweet smile too! You'll make someone really damn happy. Thanks again and you have a great day."

“Oh, uh... thanks. Have a nice day, ma'am."

He's still a bit deflated, but he smiles back and, after I collect my refund receipt, I head to the clothing department. After a few aisles, I pass by a mirror and stop to take a good long look; I've gotta make sure I'm still able to do this, and that goes double in public and alone.

The woman in the mirror is Candace Powell. A mouse rodere, with the species standard long, lightly haired tail and big damn goofy ass ears. Far taller than almost any other of the mice-type of the species; I've got eight inches on the average five foot mouse dude thanks to tall parents (even then, my dad was like... five six?) and luck of the draw for the rest.

An albino with all white fur, pink skin and pale red eyes covered by a pair of round lensed glasses. Athletic... tsk, okay, most would just say muscular (or butch, if you're an asshole). I get funny looks when my arms are exposed but if people can't deal with some muscle, then fuck'em. It's work hard or constantly act like I've got a fire up my ass 'cause I have stamina for weeks and I need to curb it or I go antsy and weird.

Not terrible looking overall. I may be happy with who I am but I'm not about to say I'm anything special. Just well shaped legs and, I quote modern philosopher (and all-round outstanding guy) Mr. Max Bailey on this, an amazing ass. I turn to the side and fine, yeah, I get it; love thyself and whatever, but I guess it's good enough to be a highlight. A good bit of padding under the tail all packed into a pair of tight capris complete with some thick thighs to really push a feminine edge to the otherwise beefy mouse frame.

I guess I give myself a pass.

Four months ago I had a very different assessment. I used to fucking hate myself, and while it wasn't tied to my appearance per-se, it was easy to make it seem like that just because of what I saw in myself. I was (and I guess still am) quick to anger, and when I get into a bad state, I'm a raging inferno. I'm a bag of complexes, mostly because I've refused to back down or be cowed in the past but sometimes you've gotta roll with the punches rather than dish'em out.

My therapist, Dr. Ashton, has helped a fuck load. Lots of isolating the core reasons for me being me and forcing me to break these parts of me down and really understanding why I act the way I do. I doubt I'll ever be my 'perfect self' as she likes to call it, but it's a goal to reach for. I'm still Candace. I still flinch when someone calls me Candy, except Max. I still want to deck people in the face when they act like complete assholes or bully people. I still act real civil to most and have the shortest fucking fuse to others.

Right now though? I'm okay, both inside and out, so I give myself a little nod and a littler smile. I've got people who like me, and that's the important part. It's a structure (as the doc tells me), and while the structure still holds, then you're good and it's a platform to build upon. Most people who know me can't be wrong, and no few loudmouth fuckers can change that.

Eventually, after a little more browsing around the aisles, I see him. My target.

I approach and raise a hand, high and to the side, and prepare to engage.

* * *

I feel the sting after the loud smack of skin on denim. It's a familiar bite in a familiar place on my left asscheek. So familiar I don't even need to look at my attacker.

“Right back at you, Candy!" I chuckle, spin and return the attack by clipping Candace's well rounded butt. She tries to dodge but I'm getting quicker; the contact gives makes her giggle in response as she hooks her arm around mine, both to stop a second attempt and despite her constant improvement, she still gets a wicked high from physical contact. It borders on dependence at times, but I can't see it as a bad thing for either of us.

“Hey, Max. I'm all finished here. Find anything you like?" Candace tilts her head up and we kiss. A little tickle from her whiskers as always, and a whole lot of warmth from her rose red eyes. It still shocks me that we've known each other for what must be twenty years, as neighbours when as little kids, friends in school and now we've only been lovers for nine months. It should have been sooner, but I was too afraid, and Candace was always worried she'd ruin it because of her self doubts.

“So, there's this one thing I've taken a shine to," I say, and watch as she looks at the nearby clothes racks for what I'm talking about. Swing and a miss...

“Yeah? Well, pick it up and let's get moving."

“Well, when you put it like that..." I wrap my other arm around her waist and lift her off the ground to the sound of a surprised squeak. It's the most adorable noise and proof of her rodere nature. It turns into a giggle as I carry her around for a bit, complete with her legs and tail flailing wildly. Between her height and muscular build, each kick threatens to throw me off balance, but thankfully I'm tall and sturdy enough to keep control.

The other customers are giving us funny looks but frankly I don't care; nothing can go wrong when we're together. Even so, we're burning a shared day off so I put her down and we start to make our way home, hand in hand.

It's a cool day in early September. The summer came and went so quickly it barely felt like it mattered, although it did in a big way. We're closer now than ever before, even if it took a pretty downer moment to get there. The quiet streets, where kids are in school and most people are working, as well as the simple comfort of feeling Candace's hand in mine to let me think back on that day.

It wasn't too long ago, back in May, that we discovered Candace was adopted. Happily, and by her aunt and uncle, but it was still a shock. I pass by Candace's shrine to her true parents every morning. Winston and Allison Edwards.

I knew Winston in passing; a cop who worked in narcotics and an albino mouse like Candace. If anyone asks how it wasn't obvious that Candace was Winston's kid, her grandma's an albino and her aunt, related by blood, isn't. It skips generations sometimes.

Anyway, Winston was built like a tank and had the presence of one, even after being put in a wheelchair, and it was obvious my girlfriend took after him. Allison had died before me and Candace met, but by all accounts she was a tall mouse woman too and a fitness instructor. Winston kept in touch by pretending to be a doting uncle, but even he passed away when we were in our early teens.

So yeah; intense, powerful, tall, driven and heroic all distilled into my girlfriend. I've started getting in shape just to keep up, because when Candace is being Candace, you need to step up your game or get left behind.

Doesn't change the fact I adore her, despite being opposites; I'm the slow, calm and restrained yang to her fiery hotrod yin, and I have absolutely no problem with the dynamic. Shit, I thrive on it. Candace makes me a better person, by making me more outgoing and confident, just as I help her smooth over her rougher edges and help her think before acting.

A lot of it comes down to a rodere condition she has, a thing called Pariah syndrome. More common in mice, their fight or flight response is ramped up to eleven when alone and with a firebrand like Candace, the pariah side turns her into something out of a comic book or a spy movie. It's like a switch that turns her from 'high energy but compassionate' all the way to 'apex asskicker'.

I mean, fuck, Candace has charged down and beaten the shit out of two guys in the time we've been together. Each one's deserved it, as both were assaulting a woman each time, but my girlfriend's demolished them despite them both being armed. The second one was the real kicker, though; it nearly cost Candace her life. She charged at someone she didn't realise had a gun.

I look at the side of Candace's head; I can't see it through her white hair but I know it's there, the bullet scar from back in May; a long, pink line above the ear where she was a literal inch away from death. That same day wasn't my finest either; I treated the incident, which had her upset and despondent, like any other and started teasing her. I learned a long time ago that whenever she's upset, you can (usually) turn her mood to anger with poking and prodding and get her to vent, then she tends to perk up. Instead I hurt her at a time when she was most vulnerable.

Between the truth about her parents and my actions, it sent her into the worst state I've seen her. I still feel like a complete asshole for that day.

I sigh at the recollection. I thought it was a subtle sound, but Candace looks at me.

“You okay?" She asks, and I feel guilty for the amount of concern in her voice.

I stare into her eyes again and smile, and while she hesitates, she smirks back.

Brushing my thoughts away, I say, “yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking how lucky I am-"

Candace puts a clawed finger to my lips and says, “okay, cliché boy, for one thing, you tell me you love me every day, you did it before we hit the mart, and I fucking adore you back. Secondly, and I guess on a related tangent, did I tell you what Dr. Ashton's been saying to me lately?"

I give a confused shrug.

“I haven't been telling her all the dirty details, but..." Candace stops and nibbles her lip, showing off her rodent incisors, then with a sigh, says, “I've been talking to her about our relationship. She says he wants to have you sit in on the next session."

I'm surprised; it feels like we've always been this way and it's always felt right, so I reply, “what do you mean? We love each other, right? What's wrong?"

Candace pulls herself free from our arm in arm walk and squares up to me, and we stare for a bit. It's a different stare hiding behind those round lenses; she's got her doubts all front and centre, and it takes a lot of effort to not just hug her as it's obvious she's trying to take a stand, and she looks anxious because of it.

“Part of me developing further involves 'isolating where I get my energy from' or something like that. To make sure it's the right type of energy and I'm striving to be my 'best self' without it becoming 'parasitic'," she said each term with air-quotes and they're certainly not her sort of terms or words. She really is taking this seriously... whatever it is, but I'm drawing a blank. “That I'm not just reducing the negative but strengthening the positive. Lifting others with me"

I blink. I'm still lost and Candace snorts into a giggle, half-heartedly elbows me in the ribs as we start walking again.

“Just come with me next time and I'm sure she can explain it better. I'm waiting for Dr. Ashton to pick a time. You in?"

“I guess?" I reply. “I'm not sure what she'll find besides a guy with a bruised ass."

Three, two, one... aaand there's the ass smack; she really is the type to double down.

“Ah, fuck you, Max," she says, sweetly, “you know you love it." Candace finally takes one of my hands again as we round into our street, a quiet little cul-de-sac. “Seriously, though. If it helps me... helps us," she says and squeezes my hand, “we've gotta do it. What if I'm doing something wrong? Shit, I know me too well to assume I'm doing everything or, fuck, even half my shit right."

“Look, Candace," I sigh and turn her to face me again, “I love you for who you are, and that'll never change."

We move in close and have a long kiss. I dare to let my tongue push in against hers. She tastes sweet. A little hint of the blueberry waffles from breakfast and it mingles with the scent of her usual floral perfume, Myomoure; I've made note of what it's called for her upcoming birthday. I almost lose my place in what we were talking about before I remember this is important and our lips part.

“I get you're always looking to improve, and if you're really determined, then sure. Just don't try and change for my sake."

“I know. And I love you more than anything. But looking back, I've always been the screw-up that you've always had to help out. I won't keep fucking up and have you pick up the pieces all the time, because it isn't fair. I want to do right by you after the times you've saved me from myself."

“Says the front-of-house restaurant manager who makes over twice what I earn?" I smirk and she rolls her eyes; I just mentioned the dreaded topic. “I know, I'm sorry; don't bring up the money. But honestly Candace, you're providing, you're paying the mortgage, you've always inspired people around you. You've saved three people from some fucked up shit in the past year, let alone all the assholes from school you put the fear of God into. You've saved me too."

The pep talk works. She can't resist the smile or a little blush but she forces it back down. “Maybe we don't know me that well after all, then? There's a lot of confusing shit in my past, Max. Maybe hearing Dr. Ashton out will bring some of it to light."

I sigh and shrug again. In a weird way, it's still Candace being Candace; she's still trying to make up for stuff that she doesn't need to, still trying to make herself better and going at it full force rather than feeling it out, still trying to prove something to me when she's everything I've ever wanted.

“Alright, Candy. Whatever you need to do, I support it. But I promise you're perfectly fine the way you are already."

“You're too fucking good, Max," Candace says and after a few more moments of staring, I see her cheeks fully flush beneath the white fur and it flows into her ears, turning the pink skin darker even as her tail all but wags side to side. I know my own face is going red and we both decide it's probably a good idea to get out of view before we continue.

We finish the walk home in silence and approach our small house. We're all moved in, a real nice home we got for cheap thanks to something of a new friend, Frank Haines, who's co-owner of a real estate firm. Two of the people Candace had saved thanks to her 'condition' just so happened to be Mr. Haines' daughter and grandson. I still can't say it was all's well that ends well, considering the bullet scar, but you can't argue with results.

Between him giving us a huge deal as (an unnecessary but greatly appreciated) reward and Candace's dad paying the upfront cost to get her out of the horrible place she was living, this was our home now. A small, two floor, black and white colour house with a little garden out back.

As neighbours growing up, friends through school, separated through college, together but busy at work, and now we really felt like this was how things were supposed to be. Sure, we had tens of thousands of dollars to go, but on Candace's salary? We'd be out of debt in a couple of years if we keep hammering away at it.

As soon as we were both inside and I close the door, we once more prove how close, how in tune we are.

I toss the house keys onto a side-table as Candace spins around, throws off her jacket onto a coat-hook and we first just hold one another for a few moments before our lips meet. It's innocent and tender, just the simplest, greatest thing. Candace lifts her glasses on top of her head for comfort and I just look onto her rose red eyes and my heart starts pounding. I feel her tongue slip between my lips so I push as well.

My hands slide over her back; the soft layer of white fur covering the hard grooves of her muscular body as each firm swell shifts beneath the surface where her arms squeeze me tighter and tighter. Her hands reach under my shirt and her claws graze against my back. Soft gasps come from both of us as she pushes me against the wall; that goddamn interplay of her small, soft breasts and powerful body against my chest...

Music? Damn it.

Of course Candace's phone kicks off with a snippet from the instrumental section of The Murid's classic track 'She's my Rodere Girl' and we both stop and catch our breath at the same time. She plucks her armour-cased smartphone from her pocket and peers at the screen, then squints (one of the issues of her albinism) and drops her glasses back down over her eyes.

“Shit," Candace says, almost breathless. “It's Dr. Ashton. Sorry, Max, I've got to call her."

My girlfriend taps the screen a couple of times then puts the phone to her ear.

I can't help but smirk as the ear away from the phone instinctively folds down and I say, “no problem. Coffee?"

“Sure," Candace says, lets me leave and winks as I hear a quiet voice through her phone. She smiles and says, “hey, Dr. Ashton, It's Candace Powell."

I head into the kitchen and collect the pods for the coffee machine.

“Yeah, I'm doing great. How're you?"

As always, I can hear it in Candy's voice; Ashton helped her at a time when she still felt vulnerable from the gunshot incident, even with us being closer afterwards. The way she speaks with enthusiasm and just a hint of worship. Candace is the supporter for so many, but it's always been up to me, her aunt and uncle to support her back in turn. I can't tell if I'm envious or glad; a burden shared or attention stolen from one of the few people in my life who've never betrayed...

Forget it. It's small peanuts compared to what she's been through.

With the machine switched on, I place a mug and coffee pod into the machine as I go to grab some cream from the refrigerator, then a teaspoon.

Candace continues. “oh, really? Sure. Yeah, he's agreed. Yep. I mean, Sunday works, sure. Eleven? Uh huh. Okay! Yeah. Thanks. See you then. Bye."

The pod's spent and I discard it, pour a little cream into the coffee and give it a vigorous stir as I switch the it around with my personal mug and start the process over. The sound of the machine cloaks her approach, but I'm not surprised when I feel her hands weave around and up under my shirt, stroking my chest as she hugs against my back.

Candace says, “so yeah, this Sunday work for you? It's still an hour session, in case you're wondering."

I let her keep hold while I place her coffee to the side and watch my mug fill with the fragrant, luscious black coffee. The building aroma fills the room. “Don't see why not. We still going to practice afterwards?"

“You better believe it. Sensei still needs me to help train the kids and your form is still sloppy. No perfection without practice."

“You know, when I joined, I assumed we'd get to practice together more. No disrespect to Bill, but-"

Candace jabs me with one of her claws, and insists (half-heartedly), “Sensei Price, eighth kyu runt!"

I huff while I grin. “We're not in the dojo now, Candy. Ah, whatever, fine; Sensei Price. But aren't you the same grade as him now? Can't he look after the kids for once?" I realise the coffee pod's been spent for a few seconds so I quickly pop the lid and throw it and take a good mouthful of almost scalding hot caffeinated bliss. I grunt and swallow it down to stop it burning my mouth.

Candace finally breaks away, rests her back against the counter as she takes a cautious sip of her coffee in response. The way she relaxes further from the taste is always a pleasure to see. “What can I say," she says with a grin and a shrug, “apparently I'm good with kids."

I lick my lips; there's an opening, so it's time to tease. “Good to know. We've taken a couple of risks but I'd say we're playing it safe enough in this relationship, but being good with kids'll be useful, just in case. You never know what'll happen on our 'grand tour' of the house."

Candace almost spits her coffee back into the cup, gulps and her eyes go wide. “You're really serious about that? I thought you were yanking my tail."

“You better believe it." My eyebrows waggle.

“Kinky bastard," she giggles and studies the kitchen. “We're only two rooms in so far, both the easiest ones. I guess the counter-top here would do but I'm not looking forward to the attic, the bathroom and under the stairs."

“What, afraid of a challenge, 'Deece?"

“The fuck I am, perv!" Candace almost slams her mug on the counter and folds her arms in mock defiance as her big ears prick up. “As teenagery as 'fucking in every room' is, I'm down for it."

“I'll tell you what. You started the one in the bedroom when we first got the bed in and I got things rolling with the front room. We've got... what, seven rooms to go? Kitchen, attic, under the stairs, bathroom, garage, spare and the landing. We-"

Her ears somehow perked up higher as she catches on. “Oh, fucking hell, Max. You really wanna make this a contest too?" Her eyes flicker about in thought, then her eyelids droop, her grin grows and her tail slaps against the cabinet doors as her long incisors gleam. “Rules and stakes, Bailey, and no matter what, you're going down."

“I trust you enough that this should work because I don't want this to turn nasty. So, at any time, when one of us is in one of those rooms, you've gotta convince the other into sex. If the other legit doesn't want to go down, then that's it; no go, tough shit, but no lame bullcrap like just denying to stop the other winning. It's gotta be a real reason why they don't want to go for it. Also, we both have to get off, so it's actually fun no matter what. The winner picks where we go for our first vacation together and is labelled King or Queen of the house."

“You've got yourself a deal!" Candace threw her hand out. I take it and shake. She giggles and says, “I've really gotta find out where you get this shit from. I swear every other week you've got some new, fucked up but stupid fun idea."

I look at the counter-top behind her and figure if I push now, I'll go for a quick early lead.

“No one else would ever put up with a girl like this,

but I was clay within her hands after every single kiss,"

This time my phone goes off to a fast, bass heavy rhythm.

“she was fire, she was heat, she was passion and all that,

I guess I'm just addicted to my love rat."

'Love Rat' by The Murids. From one of their darker, heavier albums. I pull out my phone and look at the screen.

My dad. I wasn't expecting that.

“Gotta take it," I say and flash the screen to Candace.

“Oh." She's as surprised as I am, but she gives me a sweet smile. “No sweat," she replies with a wink then walks off to the front room and I push to answer.

* * *

This is Max - I

As much as I know Max would be fine with me listening in, I consider family business as no joke, no matter how close you think you are. I should know; the people who I thought were my mom and dad were my aunt and uncle, after all. More than that, I know Max's family has always been a mixed bag. I head to the front room and while I can hear his muffled words, I force myself to just enjoy the only-just-bitter yet rich taste of my coffee and turn the TV on to help cover the conversation further with a crappy news broadcast. As soon as I hear talk of politics I just blank out and settle in for a think.

Max's folks are good people. They moved next to my parents (or aunt and uncle, but they're my mom and dad and that's what I'll always call them) when me and Max were a couple of years old to get away from the local shit across the pond. His dad's a rat rodere from England and his mom's an all-American human.

Funnily enough our folks bonded over the fact my adopted dad's Welsh; apparently it's a national past-time from the UK that every micro-nation hates each other, but in a good way or something? Fuck if I know but according to Max's dad, it's old tribalism shit and mostly good natured. Apparently my dad's real familiar with sheep and Max's dad's one drink away from painting his fur white and red and smashing up the town over self-loathing at being shit at soccer.

But anyway, everyone else I've ever met or heard of from Max's family are a bunch of assholes and wannabe social climbers but they're mostly harmless.

Oh, except his cousin James. He's a cunt. Fuck him, the horse he rode in on and I hope he takes the horse's dick up the ass until he's spitting white.

In a weird, backwards ass way I should be glad he's a total tool; James helped drive a wedge between Max and his old girlfriend Hazel from highschool, but nobody toys with my Max without getting a big spot on my shitlist and if the opportunity comes up, I'm taking some teeth.

Wow. Dr. Ashton wouldn't like to hear me thinking now. Okay, Candace, be an adult.

Just let go of the bad thoughts. Break them down. They're just memories, which are the source of the anger. Focus on the anger itself. What is anger? Literally nothing...

As I centre myself and calm down, Max enters the room and I decide to break the ice; of course I'm fucking curious what his dad wanted. “Wots the good word, mate?" I say in a totally perfect English accent.

Max's eyebrows disagree, but he decides not to indulge and just says, “so my dad wants to visit and he's got a few days off next week."

“Sweet! Wait..." I notice the omission. “No Mrs. Bailey?"

“Afraid not. It's September so she's got a bunch of weddings to plan for but that brings up the next thing," he sighs and can't maintain eye-contact and I just know where this is going. “We're invited to a get together with a bunch of my family on the thirtieth and yes. James is gonna be there."

I feel the twitch in my ears as the old response flares again but I hope he doesn't notice it. Okay, Candace, be sensible; mindfulness. “No problem. I mean, we're all adults now. I'm sure bygones will be bygones."

Max looks down at my legs. I follow his gaze and I notice my tail's twitching. He gives me a funny look and just utters, “uh huh."

I grab my traitorous tail and pin it beside me. “We're going. I'm gonna prove I'm above all this shit. Though... is he still with Bitch- uh... yeah, fuck it. Bitch-Hazel?"

“Near as I can remember, yeah. But relax. It's a few weeks away."

Max sits down next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I sigh and rest against him.

“Wow. I'm honestly surprised they're still together. Do you think it's actually love this time?" I look at Max and he purses his lips a bit as he thinks.

Then we both say, “nah," at the same time and I continue with, “probably 'cause he's feeding her addiction."

Max gives me a confused glance.

“Literal addiction... to dick. We'll have to ask if his business deals in lotion for the chafing or signed up to 'fucktoys weekly gazette', 'cause there's no way any mortal man can provide enough cock to sate Hazel."

Max snickers to himself. “Considering I'm the one she cheated on and we weren't together back then, you've really got a vendetta against her, huh?"

I don't really know how to respond to that one; I either admit it and paint myself as a bitch who can't drop a grudge or I deny it and I lie to Max. As much as I try, I just can't force out any words and just settle against him, and I'm glad he returns the gesture as his arm gets tighter around my shoulders.

* * *

I was behind her again. No goddamn shock there.

A large park at the edge of town with long, winding footpaths were a regular haunt for us now. Lots of planned placement trees and flower beds gave a nice, if predictable, backdrop but the most important thing was the clean air. It was thankfully quiet too; not just so we could run unimpeded but because of the budding embarrassment inside of me.

There's the old stereotypes, complete with the old 'where there's smoke, there's fire' idiom that most of these things tend to come from somewhere, some grain of truth, however small. To that end, I'm a firm believer in proven, scientific truths no matter how controversial it may be; mouse rodere are small, usually meek but are quicker in reactions, complete with some absurdly keen hearing and a good sense of smell, albeit one that had to be trained to really make sense of it; I bet Candace's biological dad had a keen nose being in narcotics since they wouldn't always have a sniffer dog on hand.

Obviously the rat rodere filled the other side of the equation where they're naturally big and strong; the worldwide average height of an adult male rat rodere was six foot even against the human five six, and they didn't suffer from anywhere near the health problems when they hit the seven foot mark or even push towards eight feet tall.

Shit, the tallest man in the world, formerly Robert Wadlow at eight foot eleven and passed away at twenty two? Try Elias Nilsson of Sweden. Ten foot and two inches who lived to see his thirty fifth birthday about ten years ago (I mean, he had to walk on specially made crutches since he was five, but that's beside the point). Thanks to this, literally three fifths of the NBA are currently rat rodere.

But, despite the mouse rodere gaining what seem to be some genetic holdovers with their senses, rat rodere buck the trend of their feral counterparts about their senses for some reason; they've got the same hearing and smell as humans and it's hard to ignore the data that depicts them as... well...

Rat rodere are just a little slower. Not dumb. Hell no. I keenly remember that rat rodere doctor at the research centre from an old school trip, or our boss Mr. Jackson, but their minds just react slower for deeper thoughts and rapid recall. Check any fast firing quiz on TV and unless he's a real genius, most rat rodere struggle against humans and mice.

Now if anyone calls me racist, while I'm born human I'm at least half rat rodere owing to my dad. The funky stuff about genetics and it certainly explains why I've always been the ponderous type compared to the woman ahead of me; that physical quickness, the snappy jabs and such are to be expected. The fact she can pick me up without too much of a struggle and punches like a goddamn pro kinda lends credence to the old insult of her being part rat. I just know her biological parents and grandparents were all mice and apparently she had one human great-grandparent.

So yeah, as much as I'm enjoying watching Candace's outstandingly plush ass moving in her tight running shorts or how steady her tail flow behind her as she runs ahead of me, it just reminds me of why she's such a goddamn treasure. She's like the best parts of rat and mouse rodere in one package. I'm sure she'd get defensive about that, but it's true. She's incredibly strong in all ways.

Me? Hell, my strengths seem to be firmly based on overcoming my weaknesses. I wonder how I'm worth a girl as amazing as Candace.

Scratch that; right now, I'm wondering if I'm going to fucking keel over. My lungs are on goddamn fire, I'm bathed in sweat and my legs are more jelly than anything.

“C'mon, Max, you've fucking got this!" Candace calls out with a show-offy spin, backwards jog to observe, and then resumes her run.

How the fuck does she do it? Yeah, everyone knows she's got stamina forever, but she isn't even out of breath. Not to mention she's heading for the goddamn uphill incline route. I push harder, but by the time I reach the branch in the footpath, I can't. I just fucking can't.

I stumble as I stop and lean against the wooden fencepost. Despite the cooling temperature of the early evening, my vest is drenched and I guess I'm impressed that I haven't collapsed yet. I'm so focused on trying to control my breathing that I can't even tell if Candace is aware I've stopped.

The cool air is a godsend, especially now that I'm starting to recover. I can see wisps of my sweat evaporate from the top of my vision so I tug my vest up to my forehead and try and wipe away the wetness.

“Max, are you alright?" I hear Candace call behind me. I don't even have the energy to turn

Before I can even collect enough air in my lungs to reply, her footsteps draw near and she immediately puts a hand on my shoulder and looks me over. She squints, then pulls her glasses from a lanyard and slides them on.

“Shit, Max, you should have said you were tired. Don't talk, just breathe and take a few sips of this," she says and pulls a plastic bottle from her side.

I knock back a few gulps of a mildly sweet sports drink and she settles beside me. At the very worst she's breathing longer, harder but easily controlled breaths and I manage a hard laugh at how impressed I am again. She gives me a funny look, complete with one of her ears folding back and the other perking up.

“Sorry, it's... damn," I say and take a stiff breath. “No matter how many times I see you do what you do, I'm shocked."

Candace blushes softly but I see the old defences kick in and she replies, “it's nothing special. I've been doing this shit for as long as I can remember almost without fail; cardio and strength in a nice little balance, can't be too big and bulky but need enough to do what I do best, y'know? Functional strength with speed. Power with endurance."

“Yeah, I know. I've got miles to go yet."

Candace shifts closer and I warn her, “I'm drenched, just FYI."

She doesn't hesitate, she gets closer and wraps an arm around me and I can already see her fur matting together from my sweat.

“You're getting better, Max. Keep at it and you'll be a fucking beast, I guarantee it," she says and punctuates it with a squeeze of my shoulder then upper arm. I can't help but flex my arm a little and she giggles. “It's just more conditioning than anything; you've always been strong, but you're more... y'know, more of a thinker, so if you focus on cardio, you'll be in a really good spot. Then you can decide if you just wanna stick to it or push for endurance or strength."

A beep from her wrist; her activity tracker's timer. Candace looks at it and pushes a button. “Well, no records today."

I sag and sigh. “Sorry."

Then she gives me that meltingly kind smile. Fiery as she is, she embodies nurturing warmth just as well. “We tried, we learned, we'll try again, we'll learn more."

“Probably best to start heading back. I'm gonna need a shower," I stand and stagger. “Maybe a new pair of legs."

“Sure. Take it slow, Max. Walking's fine but don't be ashamed if you need a cab or something. It's a good three miles back."

I balk despite the temptation. “Okay, now we're entering pity territory."

A little frown on her features perks up. “I'm dead serious. You injure yourself and you'll undo most of the benefits, and that goes for letting me know if you're struggling." She starts walking slowly beside me. “That's just like you though; if I didn't know better, I'd say you're scared of disappointing me."

I can't bring myself to answer. Mainly because it's true and I know she'll take it hard if I tell her. I can't do that to Candace.

Instead we just settle in for the long walk home. The evening sun's sinking behind the town and the air grows cooler but I feel colder inside for letting her down.

* * *

On-watcher – I

Candace enters the room with a dramatic yawn, a stretch and a grimace. I pretty much did the exact same thing about fifteen minutes ago; the post-workout, post-shower ache. Almost the same, I guess; when she got back she decided to do a few sets of pull ups on her new door frame bar.

Then, Candace being Candace, she got some gravity boots out, hooked herself onto the bar and began doing those upside-down sit-ups or whatever they're called. Another shot to the ego as she full on dunks on my novice fitness and a sign that I didn't let her hit her limit, I guess.

Oh well. Watching her abs flex with every rep, alongside the subtle bounce of her chest every time she came back down, led to one last 'exertion' in the shower for me at least.

It's getting late but old habits being what they are I'm always used to spending a couple of hours watching TV.

My girlfriend walks over, wearing a baggy t-shirt and pajama shorts, and plants herself next to me. We snuggle together and I can feel she's all fluffed up from drying, complete with the tickle as she rests against my arm, and she asks, “so what's on?"

“It's a documentary about Hank Middleford, y'know, the anti-rodere, pro human purity nutjob? Real piece of work," I reply and we both watch,

The narrator says_, “It's almost certainly proof that karma exists that after a lifetime of violence, conspiracy and racial hatred, the final insult and his ultimate undoing came at the height of his influence. A human who thought himself indestructible and even a righteous paragon to his cause. So much so he would attack rodere completely unprovoked in an act that he claimed helped prove his position."_

A picture of the man; young, rugged looking, but with a few scars and a real mean glint in his eye. Then it cuts to some crude footage in a church that he had taken over with his purist assholes, complete with video static from the early nineties camera they used. Hank's standing behind the altar and shouting at his cronies.

“A literal ****ing plague has been cast upon us! The media would claim that these freaks are a natural by-product of the cure humanity was blighted with nearly two hundred years ago. That we should be accepting of these monsters that masquerade as people! Rats have long been a sign of disease, and the same is true now! Mice a literal pest, to be trapped or poisoned to stop them breeding and overtaking houses!

“From now on, we will keep our blood pure! I know that each and every one of you has been pure for generations. Nobody will be a part of our community unless they can prove the same! We will make our own state, and in time, we will prove the strength of our purity! That humanity is greater than these rodere ba****ds! My own wife," he says and gestures behind him, and a heavily pregnant woman walks by his side, “will set the standard. Pure. Human. Blood."

The footage stops and the narrator takes back over as headlines flash across the screen; 'Human Impurifier', 'The Fall of Middleford' and others. “No less than a month later, Hank Middleford's wife, Irene, gave birth to a healthy baby boy. A rat rodere boy, and disproved his so-called 'purity' philosophy forever. The tragedy was that the child didn't live past a few days and was believed to have been cruelly murdered at Middleford's hands, but the circumstances of the boy's death sent Irene Middleford to the police in shock and grief, where she in turn helped them bring him in to justice by providing records of all sorts of illicit dealings."

An animation of rodere genetics appears on screen; simple silhouettes of a man, a rat and mouse rodere with a number of 3D DNA helix models moving around.

“The long odds of his undoing being what they were, research showed that, much like many predominantly human families, it only takes one ancestor cured during since The 1840 Pandemic to gain the rodere gene. Someone in Hank or Irene Middleford's family was given the cure, and scientists have found that only the most remote native tribes across the world still have entirely human bloodlines."

“What an asshole," Candace huffs.

“Yep. Good old fashioned ignorance. If anything's different, there'll always be someone who takes issue with it, I guess."

“We're all fucking people, damn it. So what if some of us have tails and fur?"

“Some people just don't care. They can't even judge people by their individual merit; if you look a certain way, that's the long and the short of it."

I search for something else to watch and lounge against the armrest of the sofa. As my legs come up, Candace shuffles over to let me get in place then reclines against me. Her tail brushes over my legs and rest over them and she gives a pleasant sigh as she relaxes completely as the 'little spoon'.

I smirk and blow on one of her large, round ears. It flickers and she twitches, then elbows me and gives a “hey," in response. I give my apology by wrapping an arm around her side and gently stroke her belly and hip. The reaction this time is a pleasant hum as she pulls my other arm around her resting shoulder.

With regret, I have to stop stroking her as I keep looking for anything else to watch and settle on a mostly finished film on a live station. Inception, with its smorgasbord of human and rodere cast mingling and working together, makes a nice counterpoint to that documentary. Especially since it includes a welcome sight of one of my favourite actors, Ken Watanabe, who's playing a Japanese business owner who puts much of the plot into motion. I mean, he's hardly the most well-known actor, but as a rat rodere who played Master Splinter in the more recent live action Ninja Turtles films, he scores big in my book.

Just a shame the writing was a mess in those films. They could never beat the animated series or the original film. The suits they used for the turtles was great and looked like it fit alongside a proper rodere actor, but for some damn reason everything went down budget and the less said about the time travel movie, but goddamn better.

Although time manipulation kinda features in Inception too, so I guess it all comes full circle, although it's dreams and layers. It's overly complicated but certainly entertaining. Climactic as it all is, my mind's elsewhere.

It's funny how things kinda worked out since rodere came to be. For every idiot like Middleford, there's so many more who don't even see the difference between fur and skin; after all, when any pregnancy might generate a rodere or a human kids no matter the parents. I let my mind flirt with the idea of kids again. Being half rat rodere I'm sure my genetics are probably going to favour rodere kids with Candace and her mouse rodere-centric blood.

I shouldn't be thinking about it, at least not yet. Plenty of years that we can really be right for each other before we start making such a grand plan as that. I realise I've resumed stroking her belly while deep in my thoughts. It's my own indulgence in the feel of her body and the way she loves tender contact so it's neither the first nor the last time we'll be in this position.

I watch the screen again as the protagonist of the film approaches his kids in the background, having left a spinning top to dance around on a table. Obviously we missed the plot point on this viewing but I remember seeing this moment and it's damn effective; if it stops spinning and falls over, he's in the real world and if it doesn't, he's still in a dream (which was largely the basis of the movie; dreams, reality, imaginative landscapes allowing for really fun scenery switches and outlandish changes). As always, the top seems to teeter and the screen goes black to keep things nice and ambiguous.

Candace yawns again, complete with a little squeak on the apex, and she says, “that'll do for me."

“Yeah, good idea." I stand after she does, although I wince as my legs still ache from the run earlier. I shut down everything in the front room while Candace checks that the doors and windows are locked and secure (a good habit she learned from her old shitty apartment), and we head upstairs to bed. Candace slows down and gives her true parents' shrine a look, kisses her fingers and taps each of the pictures.

The bedroom's an especially good comfort tonight with how tired I am. We're still using the thinner covers, although the cooler nights mean we've thrown another blanket on top and we debate about getting the thicker bedding out yet. Tonight, Candace rolls smoothly under the covers, I join her and settle in.

Between my exhaustion and Candace needing to be at work earlier than me, we settle for snuggling together, especially having taken care of my 'business' in the shower. The last month and a week since moving in have been... let's just say we're officially past the 'can do it whenever we want so we'll do it whenever we can' phase and into the 'let's make each one more special' one. It's kinda why I suggested the 'grand tour' to add some uniqueness to proceedings and it kinda forces me to slow down.

Even I'll admit it's pretty juvenile, but I always feel like I have to one-up myself to keep Candace guessing since she's pretty open and adventurous. It's certainly a far removed thing since we first made love back in January; alcohol, Candace was distraught for being passed up for a promotion and tried to force herself onto me. I pushed her away, got punched for my trouble before she trashed my room and it wasn't until we sobered up and I forced her to stay in my apartment that things worked themselves out.

Things certainly did work out well. Candace put up a good front, but when we made love I discovered she'd never had sex before. I hated that on some petty level that meant a lot to me, and that I hadn't done the same for her, but that's in the past; since then Candace has been a quick study and we generally take turns being in charge.

Not exactly your typical romantic start but I couldn't be happier now. I still think back to that day, what could have been done differently.

My mind flickers about from everything that happened today; dreams, imagination, rat rodere, Candace's strength and that first night. It washes together as I drift off to sleep.

* * *

Other Times, Places, Dreams – I

“I told you the tenth glass was a bad idea, 'Deece!" I shout, “same with every one since the fifth!" That seemed familiar... or did it? Something was off.

I'm struck with a huge sense of deja-vu as I hear the sound of Candace vomiting in the bathroom of my old apartment. I feel compelled to tidy the bed up for her, and I do so less by my own actions than going through the motions. Everything's cloudy and hazy, as if I've been drinking, and as I finish preparing the bed for Candace I hear her cough through the closed door. I walk up to it and call out, “there's mouthwash on the sink!"

The sound of her failing to open the bottle a few times, then a loud plastic snap which makes me wince. Then I hear her swish the minty liquid around her mouth, gargle and spit it out. Finally the sound of a faucet being turned on and water being splashed about, no doubt over Candace's face to help wash any residue from throwing up.

A few seconds later, the door opens and the deja-vu both peaks, then a cold shock runs through me. It's Candace alright, but...

Albino? Sure. Athletic? Absolutely. I recall being able to see the state of the room behind her, but I can't. Just Candace.

Smaller ears, a more pointed muzzle. She still wears her hair in a messy bob, still wears glasses.

The fact she has to duck below the seven foot door frame by some distance, or the fact her long tail looks decidedly scaly rather than just the thin hairs along it reveals everything my fogged brain needs to piece it all together. Candace, my oldest friend, is a rat rodere, as if her most distinct details were just taken from her natural form. It's funny... I can't actually remember what she's supposed to look like.

“I'm sorry, Max." She hiccups and starts to weep and I notice how her voice is deeper. “I didn't mean to make a mess."

“It's alright, 'Deece," I say, and realise everything's wrong; I don't think I said that, but then again, I don't remember standing eye level with Candace's chest either. A chest that bounces with each heave of her breath and it draws the logic of my mind away into a desire, a wish...

No. I can't think like that. Not when my friend needs me.

I go to hug her, only to find it didn't matter how pure my motives; I was going to do the same thing regardless. I wrap my arms around her sturdy waist and find my head buried in between her shirt-clad breasts. They're bigger too, and not just because she's larger overall; I can't tell if it's some deep desire of mine or an imagined quirk of Candace being a rat rodere, but she's far bustier too. Her arms wrap around me and pull me even deeper until my face is completely smothered.

“You can stay here the night... uh, if you want," I manage to say, barely audible to even me plunged into two furry tits as big as my head.

She calms down and the hug goes on for longer and longer, and while I wouldn't normally complain, I'm starting to struggle to breathe. Eventually I hear a soft giggle from her, then she pulls me away and looks down at me.

There's a hunger in her eyes, despite the clear wet streaks of tear-matted fur. I'm the prey to this massive predator.

“I'll do more than that, Max... I've wanted to do this for-fucking-ever."

She releases me and, with a single tug on each side of her black shirt, tears the garment away with her bra; her large tits bounce and fill my vision, stiff pink nipples erect and over a broad, flat belly with a more subtle hint of abdominals than I was expecting. Her brawny arms grab my shoulders and a weird focus takes over as she pushes me back towards the bed; weird little details become clear, as if I've understood them for years.

Candace is bigger, but she's not as overall muscular; she's so big she hasn't needed to put anywhere near the effort to be as strong as she needs to be, but she still works out. She has more fat, leading to her curvier build. She's also been able to just take things. Less a bully hunter, more a bully herself. I can't deny both my attraction and my fear, even if it's clear she still likes me back.

With a wicked smile, she rips my shirt, pins me down on the bed and grabs the leather belt around her waist and snaps it with absolute ease. Her pants and underwear drop, revealing her meaty thighs and she steps out of the ruined clothes. Then she finally climbs on top, wet and eager as the smell of her sex flows over me; a deep and rich aroma that stirs me to full arousal.

The bed creaks from her weight as her muzzle meets my lips. Her thick tongue forces its way into my mouth and I struggle to breathe all over again. Just the taste of the mint mouthwash, warmth, saliva. Her heavy tits compress against my body and her clawed hands grip my sides and I the only thing stopping me from crying out is the pressure she's exerting in her kiss. I finally get a reprieve but I'm completely out of air and can't even speak, just gasp and even growl. Adrenaline and arousal, nothing else.

I worship her. I always have, no matter the form, but here she has no restrictions and I shouldn't either. I reach up and wrap my fingers around as much of her bountiful tits as I can; I doubt I could properly hold one in my meagre hands, let alone both, but the effect is immediate.

Candace growls and grins. Her eyes are still unfocused from the lingering alcohol. “You have no idea how long I've wanted this, Max... I love you!"

Before I can reply beyond a smile, she presses the attack. She climbs higher and I gasp as her full weight presses down on me. Her eager, equally hungry cunt finds its mark; despite my lurking fears, I'm hard as a rock and I can't deny how much I've wanted her either. She's so damn spacious, I'm afraid I can't satisfy her. Candace's hungry growls and gasps grow fiercer as she pounds against me. The bed creaks louder and louder and suddenly, I hear a crack.

She doesn't stop. Just more and more intense as she huddles over me and my face once more gets buried in her bouncing tits; the warmth, the fur and weight smash against me and the bed continues to crack and shake.

The cracks give way to a crunch, the bed gives and we fall together, through the floor, through the earth and into the darkness.

Just us. Nothing short of a queen and her loyal servant into the abyss.

* * *

I gasp and feel the confusion and cobwebs of the dream fall away. As I come to back in the bedroom of my new home, I realise I'm holding Candace too tightly. A dim light fills the room through a tiny gap in the curtain from the earliest parts of dawn and my own stirrings make Candace shift about and her bleary eyes turn to me. If I wasn't still coming to I'd have a laugh at her inverted ear and how her facial fur twists and spirals into her hair in a white mess.

“Mmh? Max? Whass matter?" she slurs.

How do you tell your girlfriend you just dreamed a giant version of her forced herself onto you and you enjoyed every second of the fear and magnitude of her?

“Just a weird dream, that's all."

Candace licks her lips and reaches for her phone. The screen lights up from the motion and she squints at the time display. After a fruitless couple of seconds, she shines the night-mode orange tinged screen to me and I answer her silent question with, “It's five AM."

“Oh," she barely manages to say and plants it back on the angled contactless charger, where it buzzes softly in one short pulse. “Still another hour 'n' whatervrr..."

“Yeah, sorry, Candy." We settle back and I snuggle up to her again, but I wince as I realise I've got a half-chub pressed against her supple butt and even Candace makes an curious grunt.

“Not now, Max... sleephh..." she mumbles and a soft snore takes over.

It takes me a while to calm down. It was so vivid. Even worse is that despite how much of a handful Candace already is, I can't help but kinda wish she was like that.

No! Cut that out, Max. Normal Candace is everything you've ever wanted. I even wonder how things with Hazel worked out to begin with, only to realise there's probably some in-the-blood rat rodere attraction inside of me.

As much as a bitch as she ended up being, she was fun to hang around, pretty and as much as I loathe to admit it, I learned how to please Candace as well as I have thanks to Hazel's insatiable libido; a constant contest to keep her sated made me delve into the sordid parts of the internet for all sorts of guides.

I wish we parted ways amicably, and without James pushing his way in. That asshole...

I'm getting myself frustrated over nothing but old crap. I've lost my erection and just enjoy the warmth of Candace's body against mine as she peacefully sleeps, and as I settle down and realise I not only quite like the idea of the upcoming session with my girlfriend's therapist, but I'm eager. I want us to be perfect.

Whether or not we find something to honestly put up as a challenge for us to overcome from some yet unseen threat to our love, I just hope we aren't putting too much pressure on our relationship.

Sobering as this all is, I feel myself drift off into a silent, empty sleep.

End of Episode 1.