Skipping Stones
As a rule I don't harbor a lot of regret. Sometimes though, I'm more wrong than I care to admit.
Skipping Stones
2009 by Eldyran
As my steel toed boots crunch through the dry leaves lying across the black asphalt of the bike trail, I think about the last time I was here. Looking down at my hind feet with my paws in my DBU pants pockets, I must look a bit sad as I shuffle forward. The white wolf who walks next to me takes notice.
"What you thinking about?" Zack asks, keeping stride. I look a bit to the side and watch the loose fabric of his pants slide up and down his thighs. The material looks like silk, somewhat at odds with the cracked thin leather boots he's wearing today. Those things have seen better days.
I tear my eyes away and focus down the winding trail snaking its way through the park. It's a perfect autumn day, and most of the leaves are on the ground now. There's a light breeze, and my nostrils take in a deep inhale. While the air is dry and light, I miss the unmistakable smell of the Mississippi when it turns over this time of year.
"It's been a while since we were here." I mutter with a slight sigh, so small I doubt the white wolf notices. "Almost a year."
"No its not. It can't have been that long." He remarks, pulling a small streak of purple head fur back and tying it into a pony tail. I've never figured out how he got it. Fur dye? Freak genes? Its one of those questions I'll probably never figure out, like so much about him now.
"There was snow on the ground last time." I point out that little nugget.
"But we had a late snow last year. It was a Valentines day." Zack seems cool about the matter, ready to stand firm and refute my obstinate coyote nature as needed.
"Which was at the end of February, when I started my latest novella." My fangs tighten in mild annoyance. "It's November now. Nine months. Almost a year."
It always amazes me how easily we niggle at the smallest difference of opinion. Maybe thats why we broke up in the first place. Zack let the matter drop for the moment, and we continue our stroll down the winding path in measured silence. After a bit he digs out some thin gloves out of one of his jacket pockets. He has a bottle of some type of tea tucked in the other one.
"On second thought," he mused, "It is a bit chilly." His white paws take their sweet time in pulling on the gloves, as if it was a serious matter. I wait exactly two point one seconds before starting in on my digs.
"PUSSSYY!!" I sing the high pitched taunt, which rattles like a reed in the wind. It's my version of "Toassttyy!" from the Mortal Kombat series. The large white wolf rolls his purple eyes at me, clearly not impressed.
"I have a heavy glass bottle." He pats the jacket pocket holding his drink within easy reach. "Don't make me knock you out with it."
I grin at the ironic suggestion. I was the one who bought the drink for him in the first place. He apparently forgot his wallet back at his grandmother's place or something. Considering he got up at 11am that morning, five minutes before I was supposed to pick him up for this walk, I guess he's still waking up. Then again, I got up at 7am, had breakfast, two cups of coffee, and had gotten off twice in the shower by that time.
"Some people call that a good night." My black muzzle lips grow tight against my fangs. "There's nothing like waking up bleeding, with no idea how you got there in the first place." Zack gives me an odd sideways look before I finish my rant. "Bonus points if you're missing a Jackson from your wallet."
"It's forty out." He derails my deranged tangent with well honed grace. "I checked before we left."
As we continue to wind down the bottom of the hill, he recounts in glorious detail a few recent episodes of 'Mythbusters'. The arctic wolf is a Discovery Channel nut. I'm more of a History and Military channel devotee myself. Zack is oh so quick to point out that both came out of the discovery channel. When we round a lowland bend, the gentle babble of a stream greets us. Its gentle swells sparkle in what sunlight pokes through the light gray November overcast above.
We cross over a narrow foot bridge, my heavy boots clomping on its wooden planks with measured strides. I'm half tempted to stop and watch the stream pass by under us. The last time we crossed it we were holding paws. Zack continues on without the slightest hesitation, his long white tail brushing against the back of his legs. A large part of me wishes that all the things that have happened since March would move on like water under this bridge.
"Well." Zack tucks his paws into his pants. "I'm all out of subject matter. So speak up if you want to talk."
He's caught me looking down at the leaves blowing across the trail again. I make a bad feint about how I'm concerned about the current novella. No one accepts serials for publication anymore. And like most things I write about, the subject is a niche genre. I try to explain its premise, but I can tell the wolf's eyes glaze over the moment I skirt the social, economic, and political factors that gave rise to Fascism during the Inter-War period. It will be an uphill battle getting it published.
As most who know me can attest to, I have a major hang up when trying to let go of something that Ive invested a lot of time in.
Despite our paths going separate ways, we find some common ground talking about the ups and downs writing for the fandom. Its one of the few interests we still share together. That and quiet walks through the woods. The woods around us are lovely, dark and deep, and yet I think about all the promises I could not keep. For the hundred time that day, my thoughts keep drifting back to the past ...
* * * * *
Its a choice moment. Fleeting. Pleasurable. A hedonist's reverie.
I feel Zack's naked fur underneath my tight ass each time I ride up and down his body. It feels so good to have him inside of me, his hot shaft slipping in and out of me as I bounce in his lap. Even now my insides tighten each time I think about it, and I stiffen. Riding a guy has to be my favorite position. Each tilt or roll of my hips makes the tapered length slipping in and out rub against a different spot. Sometimes I lean back and take the wolf deep. Sometimes I lean forward, just to feel his the tip of his cock spread my tight hole again and again.
While I grind down on him, taking him all the way inside me, I look into the mirror hanging above the hotel bed's head board. I'll admit it; I love watching myself get fucked. The way my body stiffens and relaxes with each thrust I take, the way my gray and black fur bristles as my lover and I slowly drive to climax, there are few things better. I watch my back arch lightly while I straddle him, my muzzle thrown back in a whine of bliss. He's so big and so deep. I never want this moment to end.
I can feel him pulse a bit, followed with a wet gush as he spurts some pre into me. I lean forward for a moment and put my large paws on his chest for support, panting down at him as I continue to ride. The lusty glint in my green eyes try to find his own to feed the ravenous sensations coursing though me. I wish he had the same look to give; Zack's either too annoyed at the top of his head and white ears smacking against the headboard repeatedly or the constant squeak of the king sized bed to enjoy himself.
Such is the pairing of Scorpio and Libra.
Despite this he reaches out and wraps a white paw around my own hardness rubbing back and forth against his chest fur. I nearly faint as he strokes me, my head swimming from the myriad of sensation. I lean back and rest my paws against the tops of his knees now, letting his growing knot grind against my prostate. Its not long before I'm full on bucking on him, bouncing on his cock like a demented rodeo cowboy. He lets me fuck his paw, constant spurts shooting out across his chest.
With a strained bark I finally explode, shooting thick rope after sticky rope of yote cream all over him. Once the torrent ends and I'm able to pull my self back upright on wobbly knees, I collapse on top of his gooey chest. The hot seed squishes between us and runs down into the sheets. I contently squirm and nuzzle into our cum soaked, intertwined bodies ...
* * * * *
Zack catches me daydreaming again while he recants the last season's episode of Storm Chasers. While the technical thaumaturgy of a F-2 proof tornado tank is on the surface mildly interesting, the specific details go way above my head. Zack's always been a small genius of gadgetry innovation, but I've always been just too practical of a yote to truly appreciate it.
After a mile or so we come to a romantic over look with a grand view of the stream curling below us. Or it would have been romantic without the 'Yah are Gay' poorly scrawled across a makeshift seat in faded red stencil. I smile from the delicious irony. Zack doesn't seem moved by either of those things. Instead he's too busy appraising how the scrawl looks more like a redneck equation while I continue to wistfully stare down at the stream.
The wide gulf between its banks make me think of a time when Zack and I used to skip stones across an icy river, admiring its natural awe. Its just too wide of a span to build a footbridge here. Its just not practical.
We continue on another loop of the park, but the white wolf has to stop and rest for a bit. With all the uphill walking we have been doing the last hour, his cold is taking its toll. I rub his back and see if my consoling words help, but his marked indifference at the words and touch stonewall anything further. Another mile later he talks on about his frustration with a specific graphic design program and his attempts to jury rig a decent two page layout.
"You gotta do what you gotta do, man." I offer, staring at the uphill climb before us.
"You wish." Zack shakes his head, and he offers to elaborate at my confusion. "Hey you've been hitting on me this whole time, its only fair I reverse it with a 180."
"Really?" My ears perk. "When was the last time I did it?"
"Five minutes ago,"
"What did I say?" My tail is just swishing about now in mild panic.
"I don't remember." The white wolf gruffs. "And besides, Ive been trying to filter it out."
Serves me right. I try not to tuck my tail too noticeably as we head back to my car. This is the first time we've been around each other since April. Ive known for some time that I haven't worked through my feelings for the white wolf, and it probably was a mistake for me to come here. Despite telling myself over and over again just came up to drop off a copy of Seven Ultimate x64 to him, I think what I was looking for was a sign that the bridge I had burned could be rebuilt.
We don't say a lot of of consequence to each other on the short five minute drive back to his grandmother's place. Between the small talk, the haunting words of Ron Perlman echo through my thoughts on the reasons behind the breakup.
The details are trivial and pointless, the reasons, as always, purely human ones.
As I drop him off in his driveway, he pokes his head back into my small Honda and tells me he had a pleasant time. His purple irises are blank, so I cant tell if hes sincere or not. Not that it really makes a huge difference at this point. As he shuts the passenger door and I back out of the driveway, I cant help but feel a bit empty. On the way home I drive past the wavy stone pillars memorializing the tragic loss on the old I-35W bridge.
I still think of the bridge Zack and I used to share. Now I realize its best sometimes to just watch each other from opposite banks, appreciating and respecting the water's natural divide, and be content with just skipping stones ...
~ Fin ~
I gave my harness bells a shake, to ask if there was some mistake.