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This year at Eurofurence, I took part in a rather awesome writing panel run by Lupestripe, a round table forum where everyone brings something they have written (lasting no more than 10 mins), people take turns to read out their work, and everyone else gives constructive feedback. Last year at the same panel I had no time to do anything but show up. This year I wrote a piece specially for the panel, so here it is.

Tuesday. Eight o'clock. The rain was coming down hard against the windows. They'd put me in the reindeer suit again.

It'd started as a joke. Get more customers in, push the latest product, sell a little bit of your soul. Who could resist, after seeing me dressed up like Rudolf? Christmas was obvious, sure, but now the joke was on me. It was April, and they'd put me in the reindeer suit again. I hated the rain.

Get your pine scented air freshener, dream of the overpowering pungent green of those fresh northern latitudes, just help yourself to one dangling from my antlers. That's right; don't look me in the eye, but you can't help a look of pity. Or amusement. Or fear. Or envy. That happened once, and I'm still figuring it out.

My tail was stiff and aching, strapped down and hidden from sight. When's the last time you saw a reindeer with a long stripey tail? One mercy: the kids couldn't pull on it. I sighed and slouched where I stood, flexing my claws, tiny bells jangling with every movement. It was going to be a long shift.

The more this happened, the more absurd it seemed. You'd have to be pretty mad to wear another layer of fur on top of your own, even if you were being paid. Sure, there were laws to make sure you didn't die of heat stroke, laws to force employers to fit the basic cooling systems. But there's basic, and then there's basic. One time I worked in a tin-can shop so hot, I nearly singed my fur off. This wasn't so different, and there wasn't even a breeze. I sighed again and watched a trio of cubs run past.

One of them stopped and turned to give me a closer look, giggling before running onward. Like water off a duck's back, now. I shuddered; it wouldn't be beyond them to put me in a duck suit next. I'll give you a piece of advice for free: never make a bet with your boss. One minute you're laughing, the next minute they've put you in the reindeer suit again. But the thing is, dear brother, I had a secret.

A secret that made no sense, as I stood here fidgeting and muttering and panting my fur off. Yet, it made the days tolerable, and I smiled a little secret smile all my own. The cub who'd giggled was back, tugging at the fawn fabric swathing my leg.

"Mister, why are you dressed up like a reindeer?"

I smiled and gave him a pained look that spoke of just how much mental exertion it was taking me right that second, not to break down and start smashing up the place. His smile faltered.

"Because they pay me money, little one." I managed between gritted predatory teeth. But it was a lie, or at least a half-truth. And a half-truth is like a half-carcass: it can be dragged twice as far. The cub glanced nervously round for his friends, and then fled. Felt a little sorry for the guy, but when you've been asked the same question a thousand times already that day, it's hard to remain stoic. It was Tuesday, and it was raining, and they'd put me in the reindeer suit again.

Sometimes I took the suit home. To launder it right, I told them, but that was a lie too. I wore it. I wore it at home. I wore it just for me. For the longest time I denied it, for the longest time I couldn't accept I felt this way. But here it was in black and white (black and orange in my case) and this was my secret. I was nothing but a low down twisted twofer, slipping that other fur over my own, and... enjoying it.

Yeah that's what they called us. What else do you call someone who gets off on having two layers of fur instead of the customary one? Too cold? I gave a wry chuckle; it was a strange label, and yet it had stuck. Twofers, twos, or just furverts if you liked. It didn't matter to me, because it felt like nothing else. This world is a mess; you can't go anywhere without tripping over every species imaginable. And what if you imagined? What if you imagined being something different? How would it feel? What would it be like?

I didn't want to be a reindeer, not really. But you make do with what you have, and that's all I had, at least at first. But then I found them. The twos. Online; they're everywhere. An entire community, an entire virtual society like you wouldn't believe. That's where I found out our name. That's where I found out other people who dreamed of species that were not their own. That's where I found out about the fursuits.

I'm not a rich guy. How many rich guys do you see hawking air freshener in a costume for a living? But I made do. I was careful. Some even called me stingy. Yet for the first time, I'd found something I really wanted. People were making these suits, these costumes, and selling them for money. They were really good! This reindeer suit, this shameful thing, paled in comparison. Ill-fitting, worn, sloppy design. I was not the first to be put into it, and I doubted I'd be the last. Though I did wonder if I'd given it a little more wear and tear than the others. And so I saved. If you knew me, you'd know how crazy that sounded. It took a long time, these guys aren't cheap; there are even waiting lists now.

The day the package arrived, I nearly went a little crazy myself. It was Wednesday, it wasn't raining, and it was finally here. No more would I wear that stinky old reindeer suit at home (though I still do, sometimes). I stripped off my clothes, slipped it on piece by piece, and suddenly my whole world changed. Made to measure, state of the art cooling; I looked stunning, if I do say so myself. The hardest part, the head, fitted like a glove; so much better than the reindeer. A great big furry glove. You're probably thinking I'm crazy. You'd go crazy if you knew what I paid, brother. Everyone gets up to weird stuff in private that nobody else knows about, right? That's what I kept telling myself, too.

I wore it for hours. Couldn't help running my new paws up and down my new body. Catching myself in mirrors. Posing on all fours. Yeah I like that. This was a whole new level, and you'd not need anyone to force me into this furry affair. I'd jump in, and very willingly. There's a time when you go from wanting a thing, to needing a thing. When it stops being a hobby, and starts being your life. My secret life. Something inside me changed that day.

I squirmed a little and shifted in my poorly made, poorly designed, travesty of a reindeer suit. They'd put me in it, yes, because I acted like they were torturing me each time. But the funny thing is, yeah it wasn't a very good suit, but I was out there in public, and I had the best cover story in the world. Every time, I got a little thrill. Every time, I got a little buzz. It sounds wrong to say it, but I liked that damn reindeer costume. Because I was too damn shy to ever wear my own, outside of my own front door.

That was all about to change. The thing about this interest, this affliction, is that it creeps into you. It creeps up on you, little by little, and the next thing you know you're prowling around your own bedroom in a custom made animal costume that cost you over 6 months salary. Yet that wasn't enough; not any more. I was dressed up in public like a reindeer, every day, and that wasn't enough either. I wanted to be out there. I wanted to be me, that other me, the one I'd imagined and made real around my paws.

There were meets. Twofers, they actually met up, hung out, socialised, in pubs and bars and public spaces! I shuddered. What if someone recognised you? What if they were all crazy? What if it made me want more? I was hiding in plain sight and couldn't stomach that chance. Things were weird enough as it is. No, I had something much worse in mind. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? I wrung my paws together just thinking about it. These people had conventions. You know, like Star Trek conventions. Hundreds of twofers, literally hundreds, went to them. Sometimes even thousands.

I'd saved up, on top of the suit, and I was going. Hundreds of people, hundreds of miles away, and for some reason that was just fine. I'd take my suit, and I'd wear it too. So dear brother, if something happens to me, I want you to know how it all began, and why. I'm sure everything will be just fine, but they're twofers, and you know... So anyway, the name of this place, this gathering? Eurotwoference.