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DISCLAIMERS AND STUFF!:

The following fictional story contains....well...actually this part does NOT contain much homoerotic/homosexual material. However, it DOES contain inklings of things to come that will be more erotic and sexual. These things include father/son consensual sex, foot fetishes, masturbation, erotic dreams, and a LOT of male/male love. Please read, enjoy, and comment!!!

Also, I know full well that the actual Bahamut of legend and mythos was a FISH. I'm just going by fictional Final Fantasy standards, and by one amazingly beautiful pic by Grisser!

My Modern Bahamut

By Furio

With much thanks to Michael, Square-Enix, and www.dragnix.net for providing information and influence

7/16/09

To Belic, Dan, Rich, and all who love feet, footpaws, dragons, and fathers.

Chapter 1 - The Click that Changes Everything

Entering the house never felt stranger or more depressing. I made sure to hold open the door for my father as he folded his wings silently, his black coat making only the slightest sweeping noise against mine as he walked over the threshold. The same one, I presumed, that he had carried my mother over. It must have been a painful entrance for him, I can see that now.

But back then I was a bit more heartless. I wasn't really considering what my dad was feeling; I was too busy feeling empty, confused, and dead. Death. That just felt like my whole world now. Wearing black, coming back from a funeral, and saying goodbye to my mother, whom I hadn't properly said "goodbye" to the week earlier, when that goddamn car ended her life. Shame, too, then. Shame and death were my world. I never thought I would fit so perfectly into what I deemed as the "emo" culture as I did then.

I entered the house, quiet and unable to say anything positive or comforting to my dad. He didn't doff his coat, but went straight into the kitchen to the coffee machine, to pour himself something that was thankfully non-alcoholic. We had heard enough about mom's painful childhood under inebriated parentage and her strength in overcoming it. Dad would vow never to bring any similar harm to me. I could tell he was running out of avenues of release, though.

I slowly walked into the kitchen to look at my father from behind. His head was bowed lower still, horns curved in that same slight spiral, with two large pointed ears only slightly visible from my vantage point. His large, heavy tail drooped on the ground, showing his exhaustion: mental, physical, and emotional. He didn't cry during the funeral, but seemed to be just as empty as I was. I couldn't say anything to him...nothing comforting or reassuring, because I felt just as depressed. Oh sure, it could have been the easiest thing to blow off something like this and go upstairs and play video games like I always did, but there's nothing like a good solid funeral of your MOTHER to make you feel obligated for depression for weeks on end. Plus, this sincerely HURT. I had felt a double whammy of being sincerely upset and feeling like I was supposed to never feel happy again. This fucking sucked.

"You gonna be okay?" I asked suddenly, still freaked out by all the silence of the car ride home and my dad's sudden interest in decaf. I watched the head move up and down in a rapid fashion, making me wonder if had drunk something stronger.

"I'll...I need to work on some projects for school. I'm...uh....going upstairs...if that's alright?" I didn't really know if I should be spending my time crying or feeling even more depressed, but I didn't feel that now was any time for playing games, so I felt it only right to do things that weren't considered fun.

My dad nodded again quickly, this time turning slightly to the left to partly acknowledge that I was in the room. I saw his tired yellow left eye blink slowly and painfully.

I could have said something there, maybe done something cheesy liked hugged him and comforted him with words like, "Your son's still here," or "She wouldn't want you feeling this way." But how can you comfort someone when you're hurting just as much? Everything that needed to be said was said at the funeral or by his peers. And I was with him through it all. My mind was at a loss for any positive feelings, except maybe for...

"I'm sorry." Trite, but true. "I'm...I'm really sorry, dad." I don't think I needed to apologize for anything, but I thought it would give my dad some sense of power or control if he knew that I was willing to submit to something, anything. My dad had been quite strict and powerful with me when mom was alive, but now that she was gone, he seemed like the weakest dragon imaginable. It was very sad to see such a dark contrast.

"Just go upstairs," he replied in a hoarse whisper, his large snout moving slowly with the words, so as to make his response nothing more than a breath.

I nodded and turned, wanting to get away from all this pain. But it followed me, all the way up the stairs and into my room. It had already shared the car ride, the funeral, and the odd exchange downstairs. Why not spend more time with someone who had greeted me with "Nathan, I...I...dammit, this isn't happening," just a week ago on my cellphone?

I closed the door quietly, afraid to slam it or take anger out on anything. Was I angry? Yes, at the fucking car driver who was apparently facing trial for DUI anyway. But I didn't feel like I was allowed to be angry. Mom wouldn't like that. But mom's not here, my dark self said. So be angry.

No, I couldn't do that. I looked at the TV with my video game system attached and just didn't feel like playing for once. I looked at the bed, wondering if I should just sleep and found that I couldn't do that either. I took off my coat, removed most of my formal black attire, folded it up perfectly, and hung it all in the back of my closet again, wondering how soon it would be until I had to pull it all out one more time.

After doing so, I turned to see a framed photo of me and my two parents when I was about ten. Dad in the middle, Mom and I either side of him, sitting on a fishing pier. I immediately turned it around, afraid to look at my mom in the face again, worried that I might go crazy and think she was still alive and start talking to the photo. Or maybe I would cry. Or scream. Or worst of all, not react. I don't know or remember, now that the moment has long past.

I looked at the clock. 6:00 PM. Not yet time for bed, but close enough. Maybe I would just rest for a bit and try to work on school projects, as I promised in the first place. I pulled on some shorts over my legs and a t-shirt over my chest and wings, stopping only to stretch my wings a little bit. I rarely unfolded them at my age, making them stiff with disuse. Sadly, it really appropriately matched my current attitude. Stiff and inflexible.

I sat down at my desk to go through my history project for class, but that was a huge failure right there. I couldn't concentrate. I just tapped at an empty page, thinking about the good and bad times with my mother, wondering if it was the bad times that kept me from crying. The fights between her and my father had been getting a bit too frequent lately, and mom always seemed to have the upper hand. I shuddered upon wondering if I had ever accidentally blurted out that I wished mom was dead, whether in my confusing childhood or too recently.

However, hearing the heavy creaking of stairs outside my closed door was enough to snap me back into reality and try to re-focus on work. The slow, heavy footsteps stopped right outside my door, and I swallowed nervously. I was in no danger; I was already at my desk and trying to work. But I feared getting a cheesy sermon from my father or something that would make things more uncomfortable than they already were.

But they continued to the other room, the bedroom on the other side of my wall, where my headboard happened to lay. I always thought it was a bad idea to organize my furniture this way, as I often was privy to the conversations mom and dad had in bed so much of the time. This time, though, there would be far more silence. What I got tired of so quickly in life, I found myself wanting a bit more of, now.

I heard the slow squeeeek of bed springs as my dad presumably sat or lied down on the bed. Perhaps he was going to sleep? I got off my desk and onto my bed, taking one big pillow and hugging it close to me for security. That's when I heard the noise.

It was heavy, airy, and sounded very very painful indeed. It was my dad, crying; I'm sure of it now. It sounded like he had the dry heaves or something, but I could tell he was in much more serious pain than just that.

I felt my face grow warm and red as I hiccupped over and over, trying to quiet down the pain inside, but my emotions won out silently, as my eyelids flooded with tears. Sixteen, and my mom was dead. I faded into a quiet, heavy, sleep of the dead, thinking that now was only the beginning of worse things to come.

How wrong I would be.

I woke up early: 6:00 AM, and found that I couldn't get back to sleep. I momentarily hoped that the events of this whole painful week had been a dream, but doubly worried that if I fooled myself into thinking that, and they WERE real, that I'd be doing my mom a major disrespect. I sighed and picked myself out of bed, sitting on the edge briefly to find a strange sensation.

My feet seemed to touch the carpet a bit sooner than usual.

They didn't plant themselves fully on the ground, but I saw that my toe-claws actually touched the carpet when I swung my legs over, which had never happened before. I thought at first it was rather strange, but then shrugged it off as something I just noticed because I had pushed a million other things out of my head, allowing only my mother's death to fill it. I got up, stretched my arms, legs, and wings, yawned hugely, and went to the bathroom to shower up and get ready.

Oddly, I found that, while walking in the hall, that my dad wasn't in his bedroom and was presumably already downstairs. So he couldn't sleep either. Couldn't blame him, as last night was the first night he slept in that bed alone. I momentarily wondered what THAT felt like.

I turned on the water, waiting for the shower to warm up and looked at myself in the mirror. I snorted a bit, finding myself VERY average. In fact, if it wasn't for the wings, pointed ears. and my green scales with their unique family lustre, most would have surmised that I was a winged lizard. I wondered if there had been any crossbreeding in my family that would have generated such a creature like me, and snorted again at the thought. I stepped into the shower and washed myself fairly quickly, focusing only on getting clean, getting out, getting dressed, getting to school, getting home, and getting back to sleep.

When I was finished, I dried off, returned to my bedroom, and found some clothes that seemed reasonably suitable: jeans and a black t-shirt. I never wore black, usually, since the dark color absorbed too much light and worsened my skin temperature on hot days, but I guess I still felt like I was at the funeral, and that it was only appropriate. I didn't need to advertise, I guess; everybody would know about the tragedy. Or, at least, those who mattered would know.

I fitted my short tail into the posterior hole of my jeans and noticed that they seemed to show more of my ankles than usual. I looked in the mirror, bringing up one of my legs on the bed to get a better view. Had my legs grown a bit longer? I studied myself in the mirror closely. No, if I had, my height would have changed, and I looked the same as before. I grunted and looked around for my backpack, checking it for its contents and moving downstairs to the smells of breakfast.

I stopped dead on the stairs, thinking of mom again. Only mom cooked breakfast. I found myself suddenly rushing downstairs. It WAS a dream!!!

I ran into the kitchen to see a huge blue-robed dragon facing away from me at the stove. He turned around to see my excited entrance, only to see me frown and throw my bookbag down rather heavily.

"Eh...you're up early. Good morning," he said. His voice was hoarse again, appropriate for mornings, but doubled with the pain of the past week.

*click*

"Morning," I said moodily. Nothing like a rude awakening of reality to get me upset. Still, it wasn't dad's fault, but it felt like I was disappointed yet AGAIN by life. And I was pissed.

*click click*

Nothing was said, as usual. Dad was never really talkative; he left that to mom all of the time. But he usually was happy. Now, of course, he had no happiness to make up for that.

"You never make breakfast," I said, still surprised at what I saw, even if it did upset me.

Dad shrugged. "Gotta provide for the family now, son," he mumbled. "You're...all I have left now. I gotta learn how to do things for you." I never saw dad as a "Mister Mom" kind of guy and figured that it would be a tremendous uptaking for him. I briefly wondered for a moment and then said, "Can I help?"

*click*

"You can set some places for us. I think I forgot to do that. Ah, shit." I paused only briefly in wonder at my dad cussing so openly. More evidence to show that mom was no longer here; he would never say such things in her presence. It was only when I smelled some burning that I realized his reason for getting suddenly angry. I decided not to perturb that anger and get out placemats and dishes for him; one for each end of the table.

*click click click*

"Thanks, dad," I said, hoping that would alleviate some of the tension, too. He nodded quickly, keeping his focus on the cooking food in front of him, trying to reorganize it to avoid any more burning. I could tell he hadn't done this for quite a while.

*click click*

I looked around wildly; the damn clicking sound was becoming an annoyance. "What's that sound??" I asked, perhaps a bit too loudly.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that," said my father sheepishly. "I haven't yet filed down my toe-claws this morning, and they're kind of long."

I looked down at his feet.

Today, I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't done that.

Sure enough, his toe-claws were longer than usual. Every now and then he took a small step or two to shuffle his feet, whether out of a better stance or nervousness at his bad cooking skills. And every time he did, those toe-claws clicked unceremoniously on the kitchen tile floor. He was usually very dutiful in caring for his feet, since I never heard them click before, but I guess with all the things he had to do in the past week, he was putting himself on a very low priority.

What unsettled ME, however, was the fact that I couldn't stop looking at his feet.

He had normal draconic feet for our species: four large toes, plantigrade, and rather thick and muscular, which was appropriate for his age. His toe-claws were a brilliant sheen of silver that contrasted to the gentle green of our skin. Nothing all that special. Nothing all that important. They slowly turned around and moved towards the table, the claws making that soft *click click* sound every time he pushed them down with another step.

"Nathan? Something wrong with them?"

I looked up quickly, suddenly feeling a bit warm in my face. "N-no, dad, sorry. Just...spacing out, I guess."

Dad nodded sadly, incorrectly guessing the reason, and pushed a good amount of scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage from the skillet onto my plate, saving the burned portions for himself. It was just like dad to provide more for me than himself. I just responded with a simple, "Thanks, dad."

He nodded again and we sat down to eat. It really wasn't all that bad, and I still found myself wondering about my father's unique cooking skills that I never knew about. But more than that was the image of my father's feet. Why the hell wasn't it leaving my mind?!

"Studying anything interesting in school now?" asked my dad, eager to start a subject that was distant from anything that could be plaguing my mind.

I was grateful for the new topic, but still felt shy about mentioning the embarrassing answer. "Our schedule's gonna change soon," I said between mouthfuls of food. "We gotta do sex education probably today."

Dad nodded. "I hope they explain it better for you than they did for me," he said. "If you have any questions or anything, don't be shy to ask."

I nodded. I never liked the idea of "the talk," especially if it involved a reiteration of all the horror stories I heard from teachers and friends. I tapped at my plate absent-mindedly with my fork, then pulled back my arm just enough to slide it against my knife, which clattered to the floor.

"Ah, damn, sorry," I said, and leaned down to pick it up.

Yet another mistake. This gave me the excellent vantage point to look at my father's feet some more, now fully planted on the ground, the toe-claws moving so slightly, making the most subtle *click click click* sounds.

Again, I couldn't stop looking. I was practically DRINKING in my father's feet. I felt myself grow hot and even angry at myself, screaming in my head, "WHY??!"

"Did you disappear under there, Nathan?"

I quickly lifted my head up and banged it roughly against the underside of the table. I brought it up again, clutching at it and feeling a rather violent spasm of pain swell at the top of my head. My dad immediately got up and moved towards me. "Damn, are you alright? Be careful!"

I rubbed the back of my head, the pain already diminishing, to look up at my father, who had moved closer to make sure I wasn't bleeding or anything, I presume. But I just looked at him.

He wasn't the kind to care this much about me when I damaged myself. Again, mom always did that. At first I felt a bit angry, thinking that he was doing all these things just to MAKE himself "mom," which was stupid. But only when I looked into those eyes did something very very weird happen.

His eyes were the typical yellow cat-like eyes with vertical slits for pupils. But when I looked at them, my whole body shivered, like a wave of electricity had been pumped through me. I never saw him look at me like that before...so gentle...so....

"Are you alright?" he asked again.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry about that." I turned to finish eating, wanting to get away from weirdness and back to reality.

Dad paused for a few more seconds before going back to his seat and resuming eating, too. When we both finished our plates, I decided to beat dad at his "being mom" game and take up the plates to clean. Dad didn't object. He just sat his seat sipping at his coffee.

While I was soaping up the dishes, I turned to look at my dad, sitting with his legs outstretched under the table. I willed myself to avoid looking at those goddamn feet some more and looked at his face. There was a slight frown on his long snout, and his eyes looked rather haggard. Something inside me caused me to say, "Are you gonna be alright, dad?"

He nodded quietly. "Don't worry, I'll be fine." He nodded again, as if trying to convince himself that that was true. He turned to me. "I'll be fine," he whispered again.

When he looked at me, I felt that weird feeling again. The eyes seemed far away, and he looked more...mortal than I had ever perceived him. I felt like I should say something, do something, but had no idea WHAT.

I was only able to come up with, "Seriously?"

Dad looked at me for a few seconds more before opening his snout and enunciating clearly, "I should be asking YOU that."

I nodded quickly and returned to the dishes. "I'll be fine," I said quietly.

"I...This may be stupid, but if you want, I can schedule us to see a grief counselor."

I shuddered a bit at the idea. I really didn't want to see anybody like that, but also didn't know if this pain would ever go away without such help. "Maybe. Just...just let me think about that one."

That seemed to satisfy dad, as he responded with silence. I turned off the water and heard another faint *click* which caused me to shiver. I looked at the clock on the microwave and saw that the bus was going to be here soon. I was on time, for once. Truly depressing.

"Gotta get going, dad," I said, picking up my bookbag. This felt weird too. Always getting the goodbye kiss, and to do such a thing now would be too freaky.

"Have a good day. Don't let those teachers get to you," said my dad. That relaxed me a bit, as dad could guess that the sex education sessions today would leave me feeling very embarrassed indeed.

I nodded and proceeded to walk out of the kitchen. My foreclaw was on the front door's handle when I stopped. I suddenly felt this underlying fear weighing deep inside me, presumably in my soul.

"Dad!" I suddenly called out.

I heard my dad get up out of his chair and walk towards me. *click click click click* "Yes, son?"

I turned to look at him. Still dressed in that heavy blue bathrobe, six foot two inches, and about 350 pounds of combined muscle and fat, I warranted. He always felt very intimidating and even a little frightening, doubled by the fact that he WAS a dragon. I found myself tongue-tied at just looking at him.

"I...uh..."

Dad didn't say anything, but just looked at me. I could see his eyes wandering over me curiously, presumably trying to guess why I suddenly shouted for him.

I felt that fear again. It bubbled up in my throat and came out as, "Be...careful today, okay, dad?"

I might as well have said, "Don't die," to him, which I think was what I meant, anyway. He looked at me with a serious stare and said firmly, but quietly, "I promise."

A sudden instinct in my gut screamed, "HUG HIM!" but I ignored it. I nodded, turned around, opened the door, and ran outside to the bus that had conveniently parked outside my house. I stopped at the doors only briefly to see my father standing in the doorway, at that same painful threshold, looking intently at me.

In that moment, my respect for my father grew. And vice versa, I think.

If I had only known what was to come...

The bus ride was filled with thoughts, Zen-like nothingness, and fleeting visions of my father's damn feet again. Strangely enough, I felt like I had to think about my mother's death, or KEEP thinking about it, as an antidote for the weird feelings I felt that morning concerning my father. Thankfully, many students avoided me on the bus, unsure of what to say, given the news. Those that didn't know weren't really my friends and didn't really care, and that was okay, too.

We arrived at my high school, and I got ready for my morning classes and announcements as usual. My friend Tracy got to my neighboring locker just as I got to mine, and smiled casually at me.

"Are you doing alright, Nathan?" I had felt like that question was going to be asked of me a million times over for the next month, but it was probably the best thing I could have been asked.

"Yeah. Just very tired...of it all," I added.

Tracy nodded. She was a friendly vixen who could read me very well, but knew how to say just enough without going over the top. I could tell that she didn't want to keep silent, though. I guess she believed in moving on. Strange, as I don't think she had to deal with any deaths in her life, as far as I knew. But then again, what did I really know about her in just a year?

"I'm not looking forward to 11 AM, I'll say that," she said, organizing books in her locker.

I grunted. "I wonder how preachy they're going to make it all."

Tracy sighed. "It could be worse, you know. We could be in a private school. Think about how they'd treat it over THERE."

I surprised myself with a laugh. "That's true."

"You do know that we're going to be separated quite a bit for the sessions, right?"

I turned to her, confused. "Why?"

Tracy seemed surprised. She gestured between me and her with a paw. "Reptile. Mammal. Boys. Girls. Everyone's apparently getting their own session for part of the studies."

Shit, I thought. I wasn't expecting this. There weren't many dragons in the school, and not a whole lot of reptiles, either. I could only imagine what the marsupials, avians, and aquatic-oriented students would have to go through. There weren't even enough teachers to cover all the species. How the hell would they go through all this?

"This is so friggin' annoying," I said, slamming my locker a bit too loudly.

"Tell me about it. But just stick through it. Don't let it get to you. If you want, we can talk about it more after school and maybe make fun of it, if it will relax you more."

I smiled. Tracy always did have a good and effective sense of humor. "I'll think about it. Thanks."

The vixen giggled a bit. "You're so cute," she said before turning and walking away to her class.

I smiled and watched her walk away, wishing briefly that my tail was just as fluffy and thick as hers.

A lot of girls in school liked me for my maturity. It was only too bad that I saw them as good friends and nothing more. Maybe because I could be...

I turned and put my foreclaw to my head angrily. No, no, NO! I didn't even want to THINK about that! I picked up my bookbag heftily and briskly walked to Calculus, pushing away thoughts of feet, fathers, and sex education out of my head.

Unfortunately, at 11 AM, all three would mesh together to change my life for good...and for the better.

I felt colder than ever moving towards my Health Science class, and the overactive AC units in the hall didn't help. The door was closed, and several students had crowded around to see which room they were in, to be instructed on how sex was had and why it wasn't worth doing, presumably. I noted that lizards, dragons, and other reptiles were instructed to Room 304B, which I recognized as the art room. I grunted and trudged down the halls and up the stairs to the room, wondering if it was really better to not know the physiologies of other species. I guess the school wanted to make sure we only mated within our own species or whatever.

I entered the room and saw with tension that there were only about thirteen students in the class, two others being dragons that were not on the most friendly terms with me. In fact, I had recently found them intimidating, as they were much larger than I was and presumably stronger. I seriously doubted ever matching their bulk until I reached my father's age.

Unfortunately, too many students were huddled in the back, possibly for fear of being picked on for questions about their genitalia. The only space which was far enough in the back but not close enough to other students was in the middle of the classroom, where I was visible from almost every desk. I sat down, set my bookbag under my legs, and awaited for our volunteer teacher, who wasn't part of the staff.

It seemed that, except for the more populous species of canines, felines, and other mammals, every species was given a matching volunteer teacher, who was a specialist in health or biology, and would teach us about the birds and bees. It sounded like a good idea at first, especially when you consider that THIS particular teacher couldn't punish us for class disruption, or better yet, just using this period for naptime.

A minute after thinking these thoughts, our teacher entered briskly. He seemed to be an older, rather grizzled blue dragon of foreign descent. He nodded to us, uttered a polite "Good afternoon," and pulled aside a moveable shelf with a TV on it, giving the impression that we may have to listen to a video instead of a teacher. Or maybe both. I hoped for the former.

"Good afternoon," he said again. His voice carried the slightest hint of a German accent, and he enunciated his words carefully. "Thank you for coming to this session. I realize most of you don't want to be here, and if it's any consolation, I don't either, but this is something you have to learn some time. I promise I'll try not to make it too preachy." Students were chuckling already, myself included. Maybe this would be more unique.

"Ah, no offense, but would those of you in the back, please sit closer? I hate having such a wide gap between me and my audience."

I relaxed a bit at my seating choice, which didn't seem so bad now. After resettling in their new seats, most of the class was sitting in front of me, and I was one of the ones in the back.

"I see we have some dragons in the classroom," he said. I closed my eyes and practically slunk in my chair. Here comes the embarrassment. Sure enough, more than eight pairs of eyes were looking around them to spot the dragons, as if they had never seen one before in their lives. Feebs.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put a spotlight on you," said the professor. "I mean to say that some of what I will say in this lecture may not apply to you, but I will let you know of the similarities and differences, so you will understand."

I was confused, and I guessed the other dragons were, too, assuming they cared. It was true that a dragon was as much a lizard as a wolf was a poodle, but what exactly was so different about how we had sex?

I won't bore you with what the professor said for most of the first part of the lecture, which concentrated on the physiology of most lizards. The penis, the testicles, how the brain transmitted signals down there to cause erections to grow. The usual stuff which I was already familiar with in my textbook, but unfamiliar in real life. The professor pointed these facts of life out on a large canvas and anatomically correct picture of an anthro-lizard that was just a bit too difficult for me to look at, for some reason. I yawned openly whenever the professor turned to point at certain spots on the picture. Maybe I would fall asleep here.

Then the professor talked about the changes of puberty that occurred in lizards. Increased height and features, sperm production, deeper voice...again, it was all too familiar. For this part, he played sections of a DVD displaying the transformative properties of puberty. I had to admit, it was kind of interesting watching the young lizard grow larger and older in well-done CGI animation.

"Now, dragons," he said. My ears perked up. The two other dragons seemed asleep or disinterested. The professor replaced the anatomical lizard picture with that of a black dragon, and quite a noble-looking one at that. It had its wings, arms, and legs outspread widely to show every part of his anatomy. It looked much more artistic than that of the simpler-looking lizard, I'll say that.

"Dragons are very comparable to lizards, yet slightly different. Dragons do NOT actually go through puberty."

I blinked. A few other students looked at the three of us in interest, also quite as surprised as I was.

The professor continued. "Instead, dragons go through a faster rate of growth called ASD, or Accelerated Sexual Development. In older days, this used to be called 'The Quickening,' for reasons that are sadly lost to us now."

I could feel my chest tighten as my heart beat strongly at those words. The Quickening, eh?

"ASD happens usually at night, and can happen anywhere from thirteen years of age, to twenty years of age. The process may become latent and reoccur years later, but only due to a surge of hormonal flow in the brain. This is, of course, what causes ASD in dragons in their younger years, and why they grow from hatchlings into youngsters in the first place."

The chill I had felt upon entering the room was replaced with increasing warmth. I licked my muzzle nervously with my forked tongue, worrying that people could see I was actually getting interested in this.

"The upshot to this, for dragons, is that they often avoid the negative aspects of puberty, such as pimples, breaking voice, and mood swings. But, you can't have something good without something bad, and there IS a downside."

The professor turned back to us slowly, licking his muzzle quickly, as if he was apologizing for the next part.

"It can be very, very painful."

He took a deep breath. "The reason it hurts so much is because it is accelerated. The body has no time to readjust itself to the growing bones and muscle, so the dragon experiencing ASD often has to cope with extreme growing pains during the night. The changes often happen during sleep, but this may cause the dragon to experience nightmares. It can be a trying time for nearly every dragon."

I swallowed hard. This WAS going to be hell. What I thought was going to be interesting, unique, and better than others would just be a mess of pain and hurt. What a wonderful thing to experience after your mother's funeral.

"But if you know what to expect, you can prepare for it, and take prescribed medication to alleviate some of the pain. Allow me to show you the usual process." He flicked on the TV again, forwarding the DVD to a chapter on Draconic ASD.

The TV displayed a young dragon, a real one, not CGI. He was grey, with golden eyes, looking to the right, shown in profile view. The camera slowly panned down his body, displaying every inch of his young, nude draconic form. My stomach turned a bit, as I felt that I was watching some pedophile's tape, and willed myself not to get interested or excited. However, I kept my eyes on the tape out of pure interest.

The camera went lower still, down his smooth, scaled legs. It went lower. "Please don't show his feet. Please don't show his feet. Please don't show his feet," I mentally chanted.

It showed his feet. And stopped right there.

"Fuck," I thought. This dragon had very nice feet. Nothing like my father's, but they were nice, toned, and obviously very pliant. I felt myself start to sweat, and only thanked heaven that the professor had the presence of mind to turn off the lights, so no one could see my shameful interest.

"The first part that usually transforms is the feet," said the professor, who obviously had to narrate the muted video. "They grow in strength, muscle, bone structure, and sensitivity."

Sure enough, the video showed the young dragon's foot growing larger and larger, presumably by CGI animation morphing techniques. My heart raced as I watched this amazing transformation, drinking in the beautiful qualities of this foot that was so lovingly explored by the camera as it grew right before my eyes.

"Some draconic tribes in the world take this part of the transformation very seriously, as they relate it to the worship of Bahamut."

My attention snapped from the video to the professor. What did he just say?!

"The next is-"

"Excuse me, professor," I said, raising my hand. "But what-"

"Please save your questions for after this video, sir. Note it down in case you're worried of forgetting." I blushed hotly at the students who turned to look at the weird dragon who suddenly blurted out a question during a sex ed class. Oh, the shame of taking an interest in academics!

Unabated, the professor continued. "The legs usually follow suit in the same style, causing the whole lower portion to become much bigger and stronger. Such gradual transformations like this can be unfortunate, because they make the dragon's body disproportionate and difficult to move around in." The camera panned upwards and rotated around the dragon's legs to show them thickening and bubbling with muscle and expanded flesh. I could feel my shorts become uncomfortably tight, and only hoped that the same thing was not currently happening with me.

"From there, the sequence of growth is random. Sometimes it is the hands and arms that grow next, sometimes it is the chest. But they follow the same procedure as the legs and feet, which often seem to take the longest time to transform, curiously enough. Inside the dragon, the organs eventually double in size, which explains why most dragons heave greatly during the whole process, as their lungs are becoming accustomed to taking in more air."

The video showed the young dragon's chest breathing in and out very deeply. With each breath, his chest broadened, and his gut seemed to even grow, as if he was becoming pregnant. I forced myself to focus my increased breathing through my nostrils, hoping that flames wouldn't accidentally come out. I didn't know if I had those abilities, anyway; not all dragons could breathe fire.

"Wingspan is very important, and often the most painful. For this, the dragon usually has to unfold his wings and spread them during the process, which means he has to roll on his stomach if he is asleep. Sometimes, but rarely, there is someone to help him move in case he is in danger of damaging his growing wings. Wings, depending on the dragon, can extend their span by as much as six feet across, though the average is usually about three."

The young dragon unfolded and spread his wings broadly, and the camera zoomed in close enough to show them stretching wider and wider.

Fuck, why the hell was this so exciting?!

"The face, voice, and throat are usually last. Some dragons even develop horns that can grow over time. Neck, head, or side frills also develop on certain dragons who adopt those traits."

The young dragon seemed to grunt and moan as his muzzle extended, his teeth sharpened, and two small horns sprouted from the top of his head.

"The tail also develops over time, and can develop along with all the other traits. It can become quite long, again, depending on the type of dragon."

The video showed the dragon's short tail waving side to side, gradually elongating until it became thick, curved, and almost whiplike, moving in sensual oscillations that were rather hypnotizing to watch.

"And thus, eventually, does the transformation become complete. The dragon becomes an adult in the space of just a few weeks, or less, if the transformation happens to occur in just one or two nights. His body is now primed and ready to reproduce when the time is right."

The camera zoomed out to show the now fully adult dragon. I gaped.

He was beautiful.

I felt a cold shiver spread through my sweating body. Did I just think a male dragon was BEAUTIFUL?!

"And now, any questions?"

The lights went up. I suddenly looked up, feeling very intensely scared.

"Sir, did you have a question about something?" He looked at me, as did the whole class. Hell, why did it have to be NOW? Why couldn't he answer the question THEN?

"Um....I ....I forgot what...what I..."

The professor gently cocked his head. "Are you sure? It was around the part when I was discussing the transformative properties of the foot-"

"Uh, wait...uh....it was about...about....something about Bahamut..."

"Oh yes!" said the professor, snapping his foreclaw. "Oh, that's just based off a legend, nothing more. If you want to look for info on it, I suggest doing some research on the worship of Bahamut."

I nodded, feeling very confused and a bit sick at my final assessment of the dragon in the video. Blessingly, the bell rang, and all the students immediately gathered their belongings and headed for the door.

"Thank you for attending," called out the professor. "I will see you again next week, when we discuss more on this!"

I slowly gathered my belongings and hooked my bookbag over my shoulder, careful not to damage my wing in the process. I was moving towards the door when, "Son, are you alright? You don't look so well."

I felt myself grow warmer in the face. Dragons couldn't really change color, but a dimness of their scales was enough to show if they were sick. "I'm...I'm sorry, it was just...a bit weird, you know."

"What, the foot thing?" laughed the professor. I had meant my interest in the male dragon, but then thought that "the foot thing" was a good cop-out. "Yeah....yeah, exactly," I said.

The professor nodded. "Not many people know about that. I learned it from an old history book on mythology and ancient deities of the world, and it was quite a unique find, let me tell you."

"What book was it?" I asked, surprising myself with yet another random question.

He thought hard for a minute, then shrugged. "I'm afraid I can't remember. But it seems like such an integral part of Bahamanism, that if you researched the origins on that or on Bahamut, I'm sure you'd find what you're looking for."

"Thanks," I said, and quickly moved out of the room to get away from more uncomfortable thoughts that were invading my mind.

Feet...Bahamut...foot worship...male bodies...Why were they all plaguing me??!! Why couldn't I just focus on my mother's death like any normal bereaved person?

I got off the bus and walked back towards the house, realizing that this was my first school day without my mother, and I wouldn't be greeting her when I came in. I opened the door to inviting smells of meat and tomatoes. Meat sauce?

I walked into the kitchen to see my dad standing over the oven, still in his formal work clothes (suit and tie), but wearing an apron. He looked almost laughable, and I was only thankful that this apron was apparently new, and NOT mom's. He turned to me and gave a slight smirk.

"Spaghetti Bolognese?" he said questioningly.

I nodded, smiling a bit myself. Dad knew I was a pasta and meat addict, and I kind of wondered if we had that in common. I set my backpack down and went to the fridge to get some soda.

"How was school?" asked Dad predictably.

"Good," I said, pouring myself a glass. I offered some to my dad, who got out a glass and nodded approval. We drank.

"Learn anything new?" he asked again, predictably.

I shrugged. "The normal things. Things about our bodies...The Quickening...ASD...the-"

A violently loud shatter.

I swung around quickly to see my dad almost frozen in time, his foreclaw poised as if to hold the now-shattered glass, its fragments fortunately all fallen in the sink. He quickly turned his head to me.

"WHAT did you just say?!!" Okay, this was NOT predictable.

I felt fear creep up my tail and spine. "The...it was just sex ed, dad. I d-didn't..."

"No, I mean, what was that you just said you learned?!" Dad's voice was rather loud and firm. He never talked like this unless he was punishing me, and even that was rare.

"The...the Quickening? ASD?"

It was at the word "Quickening" that my father's muzzle opened slowly and he seemed to look in some faraway place. He turned back to the sink and put both foreclaws on it, hunching his head forward and closing his eyes. I could see his muzzle open and slowly, silently enunciate that word: Quickening.

I was at a loss. Did I offend my dad somehow? I looked alternately between his head and his feet, poking out from the bottom of his grey slacks.

"I have not heard that word in the longest time," my dad whispered slowly. He turned to me again. "Did your teacher say that?"

I vigorously forced myself to remember. "It...um...he said that the word wasn't used much anymore. He said...he said it's called 'ASD' now."

That seemed to appease my dad, as he nodded quite a few times and mumbled, "Yes...yeah, ASD. Yeah, sorry. You just...That kind of freaked me out." He returned to a normal state, picking up pieces of the broken glass and tossing them in the trash under the sink.

KIND OF freaked him out? I never saw my dad so upset about something that I thought was so incredibly minor. That is, if he WAS upset. For all I know, he could have been frightened of something. I quickly imagined some scenario where he had been beaten roughly by some bastard for even saying the word. Far-fetched, but a reason nonetheless.

Things after that incident returned to a somewhat reasonable state. I set out placemats and plates again, and dad proceeded to scoop out overly-generous portions of fettuccine and meat sauce on our plates. I looked at my dad again with wonder. He was never like this.

"Are you sure you're okay dad?"

Dad gave me a confused look. "Uh, yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Dad, you don't cook."

He sighed and took off the apron, as if I had just released him from some hypnotic state where he thought he COULD cook. "Nathan, we can't live on pizza and tacos and stuff like that. We need to eat normally, and one of us has to learn how to cook. I know I'm not good at it, but I'm trying."

He had a point. "Sorry, dad. It just....it's just different, that's all." We sat down to eat, and I scarfed down my meal pretty fast, enjoying each and every bite. Dad just looked at me and smiled gently "Careful, sport, you don't want to choke on that stuff!"

I couldn't help it. I LOVED Dad's pasta. I stopped only briefly to catch my breath and say, "Thank you," which he laughed at, though weakly. "You're welcome, son," he said, and continued to eat his portion very slowly. I helped myself to a second plate and ate again, though slower this time. We both finished at around the same time.

"Want some more?" I asked. My dad shook his head and stood up. "I think I may turn in for the night," he announced.

I blinked. "Dad, it's 7 PM!"

He shrugged. "I just don't feel like doing much of anything." He picked up his plate and brought it to the sink slowly. It was then that I noticed my dad seemed to be moving very slowly, as if he was aged far over 43. "Are YOU going to be alright, though, Nathan?"

"Yeah, dad...yeah, I'm fine," I said. I looked at my son and felt that twinge again inside me...like I should be saying or doing something, but I really had no idea what to do or how to do it. Instead, I brought my plate over and helped dad clean it. He was standing right beside me, looking down into the sink, but I could tell his gaze was more faraway. I looked at him long.

Something inside me caused me to raise my right foreclaw up high and gently touch dad's broad back, just around his shoulder. He turned his head to look at me.

His eyes still had that same tired look in them. He looked completely wasted. I wondered if he had drunk anything at the office or when he came home.

"Dad...are you okay?"

He didn't say anything for quite a few minutes. Then he mumbled "I..I guess I miss her," in a very hoarse voice.

I swallowed, worried that my dad might cry or something. That would have been quite embarrassing. But I didn't want to deny what he said. So I just nodded and whispered, "I do too."

We stayed in that position for a minute or so, my foreclaw on his shoulder, both of his foreclaws on the countertop. I finally lowered my foreclaw and nodded again to my dad, who turned his head to look at nothing again. I snorted back what I thought might be the beginnings of tears and turned to get my backpack. I was about to head upstairs when I remembered something.

"Dad?" I said.

He almost immediately turned to face me, as if he was expecting me to say that. "Yes?"

I put my hands in my pockets, feverishly working out what I wanted to say and how to say it. "Do...do you know anything about Bahamut?"

I half expected my dad to respond in the same shocked manner as he did to "Quickening," but interestingly enough, he did not. His eyes moved in different directions instead, as if he was searching his memories for the word. "I know he was a god or deity of some sorts...but he was more mythological, wasn't he?"

I nodded. "That's what I thought, too. It came up in class today, and I just wanted to know if you knew anything about him."

My father took a deep breath. "I remember seeing a painting of him in college a while back, in some art book. I think he was silvery blue or something, and supposed to be very very big." He sighed. "If my memory serves me correctly, he was also supposed to be a very beautiful dragon."

I nodded slowly and said, "Thanks." I turned to go upstairs, and then it was my turn to be shocked. I spun around. "Wait, what did you just say?"

My dad looked at me with surprise. "I said...I said that he was a dragon of great beauty. Everyone seemed to think so."

My mind reeled. He couldn't have thought what I thought earlier today about that transformed dragon on the DVD. That would have just been too creepy. I nodded vigorously. "Okay...okay, thanks. Sorry." I turned to go upstairs and walked quickly into my bedroom, throwing myself across the bed and covering my head with a pillow, trying to acclimate myself somehow.

I was only thankful that I looked at my father's feet only once tonight, and very briefly. Perhaps filing those toe-claws made all the difference.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. I still had no real interest in my games or "having fun." So instead, I decided to diddle around with my computer, doing some websurfing and chatting with friends. I only realized then that I might be able to dig up some info about Bahamut online.

I did some general searches and found an excellent site linked from a museum's website, that concentrated mainly on mythology and the history connected to it. It had a whole page on Bahamut. I began to read.

"Bahamut was an ancient god, said to have been worshipped in the far east more than 50 centuries ago. Those who worshipped him were said to have excelled in the fields of diplomacy and international relations, and were considered one of the best tribes to come out in Aracin times (6,000 ECE). It is only tragic to know that they died out due to their pacifistic nature and inability to fight in wars waged by other more barbaric kingdoms."

I sighed. That sucked.

"Tapestries and paintings that depict him all show him to have very similar characteristics. He had a large, thick, muscular form, multicolored wings combined of both scales and feathers, golden cat-like eyes, and a scale color that seemed to change with the reflection of light and his mood. Typically, it was shown to be a deep blue or even silver with blue tinges."

"Yeah, that sounds 'beautiful', all right," I mumbled to myself.

"The other interesting shared characteristic of these ancient depictions of Bahamut is one that has caused a general stigma among all draconic species. And that is noticeably large feet."

Fire swept through my body. I swear that it felt like the Internet suddenly decided to conspire against me, and it managed to set my cold blood boiling.

"For the longest time, scholars have wondered why the feet in these paintings and tapestries have often been the central focal points or have seemed larger and slightly disproportionate to the rest of Bahamut's body. From studies of records and historical data, we can now surmise that this was done to dictate how Bahamut was possibly worshipped.

Scale depictions show Bahamut to be huge, towering over everything else. And he made enough contact with mortals to allow himself to touch the ground, instead of dominating others from a lofty mountaintop or only flying across the sky. If he had indeed touched ground, the mortals would only be able to touch and come close to his feet, and nothing else (his long tail did not often come to rest on the ground). So it was the feet of Bahamut that made the most contact with the mortal realm.

In so doing, the feet became the most sacred part of Bahamut, not only because they were the only touchable part of his body, but also because they were seen as the very foundation of his body. They carried him throughout life, and allowed him to settle on the ground, to make contact with mortals. They were seen as the link between god and mortal, and as the strongest parts of his body, able to cling to most perches tightly and with great balance. He planted them on the ground with great force when attacking enemies or rival gods. It was from these theories and intimate details to Bahamut's feet that the regular dragon's foot became the most sacred part of its body."

The lower part of my muzzle dropped open.

"Though known in only remote parts of the world and in the oldest draconic tribes, the dragon's foot has been heavily worshipped, revered, and loved more than any other body part. Supposed descendants of Bahamut's original worshippers still cut off a deceased dragon's right foot and preserve it within a family household to remind them of the lives of the dearly departed. It is a little known fact that all but the most knowledgeable of dragons have forgotten to this day."

The rest of the article contained information on Bahamut's family and related deities. I was uninterested. Everything I had sought for was already read, and I was spellbound.

I scrolled down further on the page to find two more treasures. The first was a full-body painting of Bahamut, a gleaming combination of silver and blue, shown to be almost seated on some invisible throne, or perhaps standing in a slightly crouched position. He appeared to be in a very loving and nurturing position, his foreclaws spread downwards and around the lesser beings that were already gathering around him. And sure enough, standing out among all the features of his body, were his large, perfect feet.

The seemed to glow on their own, and carried the perfect amount of muscle that made them seem almighty, and yet, so simple, that any dragon could have carried them. Any dragon, even my...

I turned my head to look beside my computer at a framed photo that I had turned away the day after the funeral. Slowly I turned it back towards me, flinching a bit in pain at seeing my mother's image looking back at me, smiling broadly. The picture was taken on a trip to the west, of my dad seated between my mother and me, his arms around both of us, a broad smile across his muzzle. His legs dangled below the pier he was sitting on, whereas my mom and I had tucked our legs underneath us.

I alternated my view between the online painting of Bahamut and the photograph by my monitor. I picked up the photo and held it by the painting.

My father was in a strikingly similar position as Bahamut. Even his head and arms were positioned the same way!

And his feet...his feet.....

I reached out with one claw and slowly traced the outline of my father's feet in the photograph. They hung below the pier but in full view of the camera. My claw slowly traced up my father's muscular legs, around his hips, around his loose t-shirt, and up to his smiling face. I stopped there, looking intently at my father's cheerful expression.

I felt hiccups in my throat as I my eyes started to mist over again, like last night. I stroked my father's face again, pausing only to look back at my mother's equally smiling face. The strange thing was, mom's smile looked a bit more forced, while my dad seemed to have a more genuine expression of happiness.

I pushed the pad of my thumb on my father's face again, stroking it. Something was beginning to grow in me, and I couldn't tell what it was. Whatever it was, though, it was making me cry.

"Bahamut..." I heard myself whisper hoarsely, still looking at my father. I believe saying the god's name reminded me of the respect, love, and care that such a creature gave to those who were lesser than him.

I began to seriously wonder: was my father any different?

I found myself hurriedly putting the photo back down, and turning it away. I looked back at the web page to see the last treasure awaiting me. It was a small thumbnail of a picture which, when I clicked on it, proceeded to fill the entire screen.

The image was, in a way, both frightening and glorious. It depicted a bunch of furs, many dressed in religious-looking robes or outfits, reaching up to the heavens, including one elderly looking bear who had fallen down and was straining to reach as high as he could, which was only two feet from the ground. Almost everyone looked like they were in pain or in anguish, like whatever they were straining to reach for was their salvation.

And higher up in the painting, there they were.

The clouds were opening up, and light poured in at such a blinding level, that the whitest colors of the painting could barely show what was coming down from the clouds. I turned down the contrast of my monitor a bit, and saw what they were.

The most perfect draconic feet that I had ever seen, were slowly moving down to touch the mortal earth.

My heart skipped several beats.

They were my father's feet.

I reached out with a quivering foreclaw, eager to touch the very feet that the people in the painting were straining for themselves. My claw touched a soft plasma screen, but the way the screen rippled when I pressed it made it look like I had actually made pressure on those perfect silvery-white feet. It was all I could do to prevent myself from kissing the damn screen and letting my fantasy run away with me.

I finally sat back, took a huge breath, and closed the browser window, finally ridding myself of those images. But they still lingered in me. I looked at the clock. 10:00 PM. I might as well go to bed, I thought.

I turned off the lights, undressed, and crawled underneath the thick comforters, eager to end this already weird day.

I was blissfully unaware of what these last few moments would do to my psyche that night.

To be continued....in Chapter 2....