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Homeless.

It's a word that people look down on, along with those that tend to be in said predicament. If you were to ask someone what they think about the guy on the street with a handboard or someone that so happens to walk into the shelter, I bet the bulk of them would say it's because they're lazy and can't get a job. Sadly, that's not always the case.

A lot of the so-called bums had a bad run with karma who decided to pay them back for whatever petty shit they did, ten fold. Some of the guys in the shelter were laid off from the factory that helped support countless families here in Rockfell and couldn't move or find another job. Others had that woman. You know, the one that comes in looking like an angel, but leaves like a hurricane that takes all your belongings with her and the new victim.

Me? Well, I had the family problems.

A product of poor circumstances really. Before the incident where I found myself running away with a bag of a few belongings in paw and my mother throwing the Bible at me, I was a student in Cambren University. It wasn't a major big-shot university unlike what my older brother went too, but it was a popular school for law and order.

You see, my dad (a lion and a strict bastard) was a police officer while my mother (a tigress with a stubborn streak from hell) worked as fire fighter. So the blue-collar life had been embedded into me, my older brother, and little sister. Not that I minded. Though, both me and my siblings would agree that we did get tired of being pulled between deciding rather to be a police officer or a fire fighter.

Which would explain why my sister, being the rebel fighter she was, decided to take the high road and go to school for web developing. My older brother caved into our father's wishes and went to school for law enforcement. While as for little ol' me, I took towards the white-collared role and went for what I felt fit me best: a lawyer.

Of course, money was a nice bonus for me when I decided to go for my degree, something you would expect. However, I'd also be lying through my fangs if I didn't say that I also wanted to help people. My old man had filled my head countless times with tales of good men and women who couldn't be represented or didn't have a good attorney. None of which ended with a happily ever after.

Though the idea didn't pop into mind until my old man and mom sat me down at the table for the "talk". Now, for most families the talk is where the parents tell their boys to wrap their willies and that any cubs they make would be on their paws not theirs. However, our talk was always about what our future career path were. So when my dad pulled me up to the table with a coffee in his paw I knew what was coming.

Now, as a Liger I'm pushing six foot seven and rocking a light orange and striped coat of fur, and a full mane that screams "intimidating" to some. It helps that the guys from police department would normally have me and my older brother go to the gym with them to make sure we weren't pushovers. However, Dad was not someone you should fuck with. When that cup of joe was in his paw, even Mom would get serious. So when he sat us down and asked me the big question, I was so tongue-tied I couldn't think.

It also didn't help that mom was constantly trying to persuade me to join the crew, and my dad of course had suggested I join as the dispatch. "Zeke, you're a strong boy, but you're not suited for that kind of work. You got the smarts, use it to help people by being a dispatcher here at the station." Those were my dad's exact words to me. Granted, I should thank my old man, because the moment he said those words it triggered a random thought. If I could chose something they both would be okay with, then I can escape! Of course things played out as you would expect. I chose the good o'e career of an attorney and my dad sent me off to Cambren.

College wasn't such a big deal for me. I stayed with my parents since the dorm life wasn't for me (I don't like sleeping with strangers) and also because I was my mom's favorite and she'd rather have me stick to home. As for studying, it came natural for me. My folks were sticklers on school, so we learned the hard way that if we didn't put a hundred percent into our work, our hides would be stinging. So the big ol' jock was actually a book nerd.

For the first three years, everything went by pretty easily. Made a few friends, got good grades, fucked. Definitely fucked around a lot. Being a jock had its benefits when it came to having the first pick of ladies at the local bars. Next to the football players, any tall muscular guy would find themselves being eyed from the corner of the bars by a nice selection of vixens, cougars, and other fine specimens. But, being a hybrid was always an eye-catcher.

Hell, even the guys used me as a wingman when I wasn't in the mood because it was too easy for me to grab up a female. Any female.

I was a bit of a slut, not going to hide it. I had some good lays and some horrible ones. Though, being able to sneak off in the back of the bar with the woman of my choice and watch her get on her knees was a thrill. There's no other way of describing it. The way one's blood rushed due to the mix of alcohol and hormones combining together when a woman grabs at the zipper of your pants is an amazing rush. Even better when the nerves spike up from any noise that you heard as you try to split your concentration between the amazing warm velvet tongue against the underside of your cock and making sure no one came out and saw you getting head by the dumpster.

Yet, even then there was something missing. The girls were good and a delight to see, but they could only fulfill me for short period of time. It's weird really. No way to really explain it except that there was like a hole inside of me. One that got bigger and bigger each time it was "guys' night out". The sex was a temporary cork for it, but by the third year of college that was not enough.

The guys felt something was weird with me when I would reject going out to the bars. In all honesty, something weird was happening. The sight of women didn't captivate me like it use to. The slick feel of lipstick against my lips did nothing for me. That subtle smell of perfume which used to get my stomach in a fit failed to get me aroused. Then the sly dainty look in a woman's eyes, the one thing I loved the most, didn't catch my interest.

Saying that I was felt broken was an understatement. It was like someone picked up a record named Zeke and slammed it to the ground and watched it shatter. At first I thought it was just my instincts saying "Yo Zeke, time to stop playing the single life and find a mate", which I tried, and quickly found out that was even less appealing.

It wasn't till I ran into a buck by the name of Darrel that my answers to my lost libido came. The guy was alright. He was a sweetheart, a gamer, knew his ways around the books and a great tutor. He was also gay. Could tell it from a mile away, and for that a lot of guys didn't care for him.

Granted, you have to keep in mind Rockfell isn't what you call "gay friendly". I was pretty open minded and didn't bother me that he was what he was. As long as he didn't try to do anything to me, I was happy to have him as my tutor. Darrel was amazing at showing you and explaining things in the most simplest way possible, which I loved. Because of this, I decided to go to him for any questions I had in class, which were a lot by this point. So seeing him on a daily basis wasn't an understatement.

Now here is where it felt like someone took a flamethrower and burned my shattered record.

At first it was like hanging with my brother, a more flamboyant version of him. Then slowly I started to notice a few things. Like the way he cocked his head at my shitty puns, the gleam in his eye when he laughed, those rough lips, and the way his muscles would grow taut when he flipped a page. All the things a straight guy should NOT pick up.

I did my best to ignore the signs, you know, the gut-wrenching feeling and the little voice that plagues you when you first notice yourself checking out a guy? Yeah, those. There were some...stages of denial I went through. First was the "it was a mistake, no way in hell I'm gay when I plow pussy all the time" stage. Followed by the "waking up in the middle of the night from the most cock-hardening dream of me plowing and eating out Darrel's used hole" stage. (Yes, I'm big into rimming, not that a lot of woman liked that). Which absolutely terrified me. Then came the "avoiding Darrel and hope that fixes the problem" stage.

Not sure about you, but when you try to avoid someone who you became close friends with, two things usually happen. One: they'll say fuck you and that you weren't their friend to begin with, or two: It's where they hunt you down and get the answers out.

Darrel chose the latter..

When the buck was actually able to corner me (in the bathroom, go figure), I finally came clean to him. I'm not a shy guy nor do I really like to beat around bushes. So I told him straight out that I was confused about my sexuality because of him. Hell, I blamed him in a not so nice way (I blame my mom for my temper). Though, Darrel being a good sport that he was didn't take it to heart. Instead he did something that no woman had ever done to me, especially when I'm pissed.

He walked up to me, grabbed me by my collar and pulled me down into a kiss. Just a kiss, simple, strong, and bold. It had left me dazed as Darrel walked out of the bathroom, leaving me with a look, an invitation.

Of course I followed after him, my lips still warm from the interaction. Kissing a man was different from kissing a woman. There was no lipstick that made for a gentle light touch, instead it was strong and rough. Completely opposite and mouth watering. A simple kiss, I swear it was, but it was the most addicting thing.

And when you're addicted to something you need to see a doctor. Darrel was my doctor.

I'm sure you figured where this landed us. After the kiss, I found him, asked him if he could...well...try that again with me, back at his place. One thing led to another and sex happened! What, you thought I was going to go into detail? Nah, that's for much later on when it'll be more worthwhile. All I'll say is that deers have nice asses, rather you fuck them or eat them out.

After that night, the two of us did meet up and screw around more often. At first I thought of myself as bi, which I heard was usual. However, when I noticed myself checking out only guys and never the girls, I racked it up as being gay. Which I didn't mind. That void that had been in my stomach for so many years had finally been filled, and I loved it.

That's of course where Karma comes into my story.

After the start of a new semester, Darrel had gotten a new roommate, one not as thrilled to have us having gay sex going in their dorms. At this point Darrel was a good friend and my only regular so of course I wasn't going to give up on having some hot one-on-one time with that fluffy white butt. Since Darrel wasn't into messing around in public, I waited till my parents' anniversary, when they always left the house and booked a night at the hotels.

Like clockwork, they left, Darrel came over, and we went back to my room. Since my siblings no longer lived with the folks we had the whole house to ourselves. Until my parents came back home. The reason why they had not stayed at the hotel is still unknown to me to this day. Maybe the rooms were all booked since they go to the same one each time. Then again, could just be the fact that they were getting old and the sexual spark between them weren't as strong for a full night of fun.

Whatever the case was, my dad with his amazing hearing, instantly heard Darrel moaning and came charging upstairs to see me plowing Darrel madly into the bed.

The rest is history of course. Darrel was chased out of the house, my mom screamed Bible verses at me, my old man gave me ten minutes to get my belongings and get the hell out. The typical thing anyone who is LGBT feared the most when they came out. Of course my old man didn't stop there. He stopped my funds for school, brother wouldn't talk to me, and I hadn't heard from my sister in ages. And to top it all off, Darrel was so scared by the incident (did I mention my mother's temper is far worse than my own?) that he didn't talk to me ever again.

So, there you have it. Gay jock, who went from living in a two-story house with a family that loved him, to living in a shelter and currently rifling through his bags of clothes to find his dress shirt and pants.

The last pair I had, since the only other tiger in this damned place decided to come by and take them for his own.

"I swear to god, if I find out someone else took my motherfucking clothes again I'm going to beat their face in!" I growled loudly enough to make the others around me turn and look, or even take a few step back.

"Whoa, whoa, Zeke. What's gotten under your collar this time?" My ears tilted in the direction of the voice as I looked to see a chipmunk, Miles, walk up to me.

"That's the fucking problem. I can't find my work clothes and the bus is going to be here soon." I said, and at this point I could feel my stomach tighten up. There were a few looks of disdain at the word "work" from a lot of the guys here in the shelter. Which I didn't give a damn about at this point. I went out, hunted, and tried my hardest to get a job. I had the right to speak that so called accursed word.

"I hear ya bud. No need to flip your script. Since you was gone late last night I had your clothes under my bunk bed to keep watch of it. I just forgot to tell you because I fell asleep." Miles said.

The tension in my neck eased up slightly as I looked at the chipmunk. Miles wasn't like the rest of the assholes here. He didn't shove or push for food at the mess hall, nor did he mind sharing his blankets or things to those that needed it. The guy was a saint and one of the few here that I could tolerate. Sadly he slept a dozen bunk beds away from me.

"Could have left me a note or something, man," I said with a hint of annoyance in my voice.

Miles smiled innocently and shrugged, which diffused even more of my anger. "True, but you'd keep my stuff safe for me as well. Right?"

"You're damn right about that. Come on, let's get my stuff so I can go. I'll have to change on the way to the office."

Miles nodded and I walked him over to where he slept. A lot of the guys in the shelter shifted out of the way. It didn't take a hound dog to smell the hint of fear, envy, and annoyance in the air. It was a normal scent around here next to the smell of piss and old-man stank.

After finding myself here in the shelter, things had been rough. I have had my stuff stolen, assholes tried to start fights with me, and worst of all, I got called a faggot more times than I like. God, I didn't know that word would feel so degrading until one of the guys from the police station came here from one of my fights and called me that in front of everyone. That made my popularity drop faster than a singer endorsing abortion.

Still, I was already on the right track. Just a few more months of this hell hole and I'd have plenty of money saved up to get a place of my own. I might even offer Miles a place since he obviously doesn't mind being friends with a queer.

"So..." Miles broke the silence between the two of us as we stopped by his bed. Most of the other residents here had left, and the few that were around were making their way out.

"So what?" I asked, my tail twitching as I notice the curious, mischievous gleam in those beady little eyes.

"How is Collin?" Miles smiled and reached under the bed, pulling out my bag of clothes.

My mouth was agape as I tried to say something in response to the sudden question, but had nothing. Which apparently was what Miles was hoping for, as he was giggling like a little school girl as he tossed my bag at me.

Yeah, screw the idea of him moving with me. Little bastard was more conniving that he let on!

"My boss is just fine. Still an asshole like a certain chipmunk I know." My brows furrowed playfully at Miles.

He shrugged. "Sounds like a good kind of guy to me. Should introduce me some time."

And have you embarrass me? No thank you! "I'll think on it," I said while throwing my backpack around my shoulders.

Miles watched me before shaking his head. "You should think about that offer of his bud."

"What? Moving in with him? Hell no. I don't need anyone's pity." I shook my head.

"Well it would be a quick way out of here." He smiled softly at the wrinkle in my snout. "But in all seriousness, you need to be more careful around here Zeke. You've been getting into a lot more fights and letting that temper of yours get the better of you..."

"I know. I know. Wouldn't happen if these assholes kept their paws to themselves."

"True. I'm just worried about you, bud. Sure, fights break out here from time to time, but you've already been in six since you came eight months ago. Maybe instead of getting riled up we could go out, relax a bit."

I sighed and patted Miles on the back. He didn't flinch, like most would here, but kept his eyes on mine. "Thanks Miles. Seriously. I know you care and I promise to try not to go off on anyone without a legit reason too."

"Zeke..."

"Hey, that's as good as you're getting from me. Also you need to stop letting these jackasses walk all over you. Else you won't even get that much from me."

The smile on his faltered, but quickly rebounded, which didn't escape my eyes. "Don't stress about me so much. I'm the Saint here at Mercy Homeless Center. You said it yourself." He chuckled and smirked evilly. "Besides, don't you have a stud of a husky you need to get to? Better get on the bus before he hires someones that doesn't care as much as you about the job."

I cursed softly under my breath before turning around, doing my absolute best to ignore the snickers that came from behind me.