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The mouse, propped up in bed, at a sit (with sheets half-wrapped around his bare and slender body), watched the television screen. Watched his mate being interviewed. As the morning sunlight streamed through the window. On today (race day).

"So, you've come close before," the anchor said. "Many say that, BECAUSE you're a bat, you have an advantage when it comes to races run at night. You're on the front row, and ... " The anchor smiled and trailed for dramatic effect. "What do you think your chances are?"

Adelaide giggled a bit, perfectly pink. Perfectly batty. Looking to the camera with confidence. "Well, I ALWAYS think my chances are good. Else I wouldn't be out there. I mean, I always go out there, you know, THINKING I can win. I know I can. It just ... it just hasn't happened yet," she admitted lightly.

"But will it happen here?"

"Maybe," was the bat's guarded grin.

Field's dishy ears swivelled. He strained for the plunker, and then aimed it at the screen. Turning up the volume a few notches. Nose and whiskers twitching. His tail snaking against the pillows.

"You like the night races more?"

"Well, instinctually ... maybe, yeah. I mean, but ... bats haven't been nocturnal for a few thousand years. I mean, the instinct still lingers that, YES, I'm more comfortable racing at night than all the foxes and predators and whatnot. My reflexes are suited for it. But if you're asking if Saturday night FEELS better than Sunday afternoon, I'd have to say ... I don't know. It actually kind of throws me off. The majority of the races, as you know, are on Sundays, and to have a Saturday night race actually SHORTENS your week, in a way. Gives you less time to get from one track to the other. Last week, we were in Michigan. This week, here in Texas. And because the race is on Saturday instead of Sunday, we had one LESS day to get everything ready and get all our practice in. But, you know ... yeah." A giggle. "I like the night races more than most. I've gotten two of my three poles for night races. My best finishes came in Richmond and Nashville, so ... guess I DO have a thing for them. You just won't get me to blatantly admit it." A toothy grin. "They're a treat, I'll say. BECAUSE they're rare and special. But I wouldn't want every race to be on Saturday night, no."

"We're talking to Adelaide, one of the most popular, if not THE most-popular driver in the Furry Racing League ... Adelaide, how difficult is it being the ONLY bat racing Indy cars. I mean, you have NO teammate. I notice that there's a team of foxes ... a team of squirrels. You have no teammate to work with on and off the track. Does that make it more difficult?"

"Well, Indy cars aren't like stock cars, so ... as far as having a teammate ON the track, it's not like ... if I had a teammate, he couldn't do much blocking for me. Stock cars can block and bump each other. You bump someone in an INDY car, and you're in the wall. It's a different style of racing. It's not so reliant on having a teammate out there to watch your back ... but, yeah, I'll admit that, yes, it would be nice, I guess, to have someone to draft with. To have someone to share telemetry with. Teammates can be an asset. But having too many teammates can spread your resources and attention ... too thinly. As it is, I get to work with my team owner every day. He isn't split between cars."

"So, you like flying solo, as it were?" the announcer asked ... with a bit of a chuckle at his own bat-related joke.

Adelaide giggled a bit. Shrugged. "Yeah. On the track, at least, yes."

"Off the track, of course, you've got your mate. Field. A mouse. He always stays just out of view ... does all the attention given to you BOTHER him?"

"No, not at all. Field's very supportive. I mean, I couldn't do any of this without him. He's ... well, he means the world to me. I really, really love him," she said gently, looking at the camera. "He just doesn't want the spotlight for himself. He's very humble and selfless. He loves being around racing, too, and he knows that this is my job. This is what I do. And ... he's never the type to scheme to get some of it for himself. He knows, when I'm out there, it's my show, as it were, and ... he doesn't wanna take that from me."

"He sounds great. So, tell me: when are the two of you gonna do an interview together? A romantic tell-all?" the anchor teased.

A giggle. "Um ... have to get back to you on that one."

"A few more questions, and we'll let you go ... what about Lumba? The other femme fur in the series? Have you taken it upon yourself to sort of mentor her in how it's all done? How to deal with the pressure? Or is she learning it all herself?"

"Well, I talk to her, of course, now and then ... you have to remember that, as drivers, most of us are friendly. There ARE feuds, of course, on and off the track. I mean, some drivers have a feud with ME. I mean, I try not to reciprocate on that. I try to stay out of squabbles. But, I mean ... as drivers, we don't really socialize while we work. I mean, we have set-ups, et cetera, that we don't wish to share. So ... but OFF the clock, as it were, we sometimes hang out, and ... yeah, I've spent some time with her. She's very capable. Very talented. I think she's still adjusting to our culture. Racing here is different than it was down in Brazil, I think, so ... we're casual friends. But, no, I wouldn't say she's my protege or anything. We both root for each other, if that's what you're asking."

"Now, as you know, Adelaide," the anchor continued, "you have a big following. You've earned a lot of fans. BUT ... there's a considerable portion of furs out there who just DON'T like you. Sort of like a backlash effect, I guess. Maybe they resent the attention you get as compared to the other drivers. Maybe cause you're a bat, or ... cause you're a femme. I mean, I would've thought, personally, that a femme driving a race car would turn every male on!"

Adelaide giggle-chittered.

"But some just don't feel that way. How do you handle that group of nay-sayers out there? The ones that resent you? The ones that say that ... you don't belong in a car? Or that you're only in this series to stick it to the male sex?"

"Well," Adelaide said, taking a breath, sitting up straighter in her chair. "I would tell them that I love the male sex. My mate is male, and ... " She giggled. "Well, I'll just say that two of my very favorite words in the English language are 'male' and 'sex,' and when you have them both TOGETHER ... so, I mean, why would I want to stick it to males? I'm not here to one-up them. I'm not here to embarrass them, you know. I'm here to compete WITH them. Which I have a right to do. I'm not doing this as a 'femmes rule!' thing ... no, I just honestly love racing. I'm a bat. I'm very confident, very competitive. I have wings. I'm used to bumping and grinding with gravity. Racing, in a way, is like flying. It takes a lot of finesse. A lot of strength. It's very appealing to me, and I just ... to those that DON'T like me, I'd just ask that they get over their pre-conceptions.

"I've been blessed," Adelaide continued, "with the ability and the opportunity to do what I love, you know, for a career. I'm very, very grateful that God has given me that opportunity. And I don't treat it casually. I try to be kind, and ... to be a role model, I guess, to younger furs. Maybe to inspire them to go after their dreams. It's always hard, you know, to get what you want. Anything WORTH having ... takes effort to acquire or keep. It's like tending a garden. If you don't spend time nurturing your dreams of your loves, they won't grow. The weeds will set in ... and choke it all out. So ... I grew up in a very rural region. As did my mate. I know what it's like to be poor. I know what it's like to ... worry all the time. I mean, even today, I worry. And I've had to put things on hold, you know, for THIS. For racing. Mice and bats are genetically capable of having offspring, but ... you know, I can't have a baby while I'm racing cars. There's no maternity leave in the sports world. So, I've made some sacrifices, and ... I do my best. As I said, I'm grateful, and I try to give back to others. So ... I try not only to entertain them with my racing, and give them a bit of joy, but to really connect with them when I can. I know that some-furs are jealous of me, or might think I have a huge ego, or ... but I just ask them to look deeper. To not judge me until they really know me.

"And, yes," she said, wrapping up, "I'm aware of the history I'm making, being the only bat in the series, and being the first femme. And, now, one of only two femmes. I know that no femme has ever won a race in a major auto series in this country, and ... I have a great opportunity to be the first. I think about it every day. And, in a way, it does drive me, but I'm not consumed with it. Ultimately, I'm not here to make a point. I'm here to race. And if I happen to make a point while doing it ... then I'll take it, I guess."

"Well put," said the anchor. "We've been talking to Adelaide, the pink-furred bat. She's a star in the Furry Racing League, and they'll be racing under the lights in Texas this weekend. Good luck, Adelaide. Thanks for coming on. And maybe we'll see you again?"

"Sure thing," the bat said, nodding. "And thanks for having me."

The interview over, the screen shifted to another sport. The mouse was watching the cable sports channel. One of them. The one with 24-hour sports news.

And he turned the volume down. And then decided to turn the television off completely. And, ears swiveling, he turned a bit. To the bathroom door.

"They replay my interview?" Adelaide asked, brushing her teeth. Bell-Bell had set up the interview yesterday afternoon. After Adelaide had finished her qualifying run.

Field nodded. "Mm-hmm." He smiled shyly. "You're SO good on the camera, you know. Like ... you just glow. You're so poised, too." A pause. "I could never do that."

The bat leaned back into the bathroom, spitting her toothpaste out, and then rinsing her muzzle with water. "Mm," she went, stepping out of the bathroom. Having used the bathroom, brushed her teeth, stretched her wings. She smiled back at her mouse. "It's okay. You have other talents."

"Like?"

"Like," she said, sliding back into bed. "Your writing. Your pictures. You're a lot more artistic and expressive than I could ever be."

"You express yourself pretty well," he assured.

"Not artistically."

"Still ... "

"Field, the point," she whispered, "is that you're of so much worth. Doesn't matter to me if you can't speak in front of a camera. You're capable of so much." She put her forehead against his. And breathed in, closing her eyes. And then opening them. "Mm." She grinned a toothy grin. "Both got our teeth brushed. No morning breath."

"Nope," Field whispered.

"So, are you gonna start the kissing or am I?" she asked.

The mouse giggle-squeaked shyly. Like her, bare and in the fur. Caught in the sheets. At a sort of sit. "Mm ... "

"My subby mouse," she cooed. "Guess I'll have to do it." She grinned, though, as she said this.

"Well, you always get my motor running," he whispered airily, in his soft, mousey voice.

A chitter-squeak. "Heh ... mm ... I've always said that ridin' you ... is like ridin' a race car," she purred. "Mouses have good motors."

Field found himself, now, on his back. Flushing at her words. A happy flush, though. And Adelaide straddling his waist, leaning down to kiss his nose. Which twitched and sniffed from the kiss! So cute! She did it again, and then his cheek, and ...

... their lips met. Soft, wet. Both tasting slightly of peppermint (from the toothpaste). And the bat panted lightly at the eventual breaking of the kiss. "Field," she whispered.

"Mm?" was his wispy response.

"I'd yiff you 'til the cows came home ... but I gotta get to the garage."

"I know," he said quietly.

"I love you," she said softly, brightly. Honestly.

"I love you, too," was his gentle, shy response. Still on his back. The bat still sitting at a straddle of his waist.

"Tonight," she promised, running a paw along his chest. "Tonight ... after the race."

"You sure you'll be up to it?"

"Aren't I always?" was her cheeky, toothy grin.

He nodded. She was, at that.

And the bat slid out of bed. And padded to her clothes. The mouse, shifting to his side, breathing lightly, watched her dress. And felt his heart flutter. Today would be a long, exciting day.

Today was race day.

Bell-Bell's hoof-like hands gripped at the edge of the sink. Her body hunched forward. She drew in a sharp breath through the nose. It left her as a grunt through her parted muzzle.

Dusky, bucking from behind, swallowed, "I ... I ... mm ... " Pant, pant. "S-sorry," he managed. He'd mounted her rather forcefully. Without warning. The doe had woken first. Had gone into the little kitchen area to get a glass of water. Naked, still, from last night. Dusky had stirred awake (due to the scuffing sound her hooves made on the linoleum in the kitchen). He had a raging morning wood (to put it simply). He'd gotten, wobbly, to his feet, meaning to let his erection die down so he could use the bathroom, but he'd looked her way. There she'd been. On the tips of her hooves, straining to reach a water glass on the top shelf of the cupboard. Her flicking deer tail was raised so that the white of it was flagging visibly, like a natural sign of submission. Like a holy-white flame burning above the crease between her legs. Oh, her pussy ...

Breed, breed, breed!

The doe had yelped in surprise as the rabbit had hopped right up behind her, paws and arms wrapping round her belly. His penis making penetration before she could say his name. And, by that point, there was no stopping him.

The doe, having only lost her virginity last night, had moaned out. And submitted. Feeling a pulse of erotic want. She wanted to feel more. And, so, after the initial surprise ... " ... it's," she stammered, "oh, oh ... okay ... "

"I couldn't ... uh ... I couldn't help it," he moaned.

"I ... I said it's fine. I just don't understand ... w-why you jumped me. I, uh, noticed your wood. You could've asked ... I would've said yes."

The rabbit managed to slow his pace, allowing them to better converse. "But ... but you were flagging your tail at me," Dusky said hesitantly, confused. "You ... you ... flagged me."

"Flagged," she started, squinting, and then her eyes widened. "Oh," she realized. "Of course ... "

"W-what ... " Dusky managed to slow way down. So that he wasn't really moving. Just so that he was breathing a bit heavily. Cock marinating in her vagina. He licked his lips. And rested his nose on the back of her neck.

"It's, uh ... silly," she said.

"No, what," he wondered again. Whiskers twitching.

"Well, I haven't ... done it before, but ... when a femme doe wishes a male deer, a buck, to mount her, she flags her tail at him. Shows him the white of her tail and flickers it. It's ... like an unconscious green light. It triggers the male into mounting. I mean ... otherwise, the bucks would be fighting over us, rutting out of control. It's ... it's like ... it gives the doe an equal bit of control." A flush. A pause. "While I was reaching for the glass, I, uh ... I guess I was thinking about last night." She flushed. "But I honestly didn't realize I was doing it ... and I didn't know you'd woken up, or ... "

"Well, it must work on bunny bucks ... as well as deer bucks." A pause. "I just felt I had to breed you. It's ... I didn't even think about it. I just had to. I saw your tail flag, and I thought that meant you wanted sex ... "

"Wow ... I can't believe that worked on you. We're not the same species ..." She trailed. Mind reeeling.

The rabbit paused. "You ... you mean, that every time you raise the white of your tail and flag it at me, I'm gonna ... this is gonna happen?"

"Well, uh, you already had an erection. A morning one. So, I think you were extra-predisposed. Your penis has to be erect ... for it to work."

"I WAS erect," he assured.

She giggled shyly. "Um ... that would do it, then. Plus, you're a rabbit. Your yiff drive is twice as active as a deer's." She considered. "I don't know. Maybe ... maybe that's why."

"Well, mind you, I'm ... I'm not complaining," he offered.

"Well, neither am I," she whispered back, as if needing to make it clear.

A pause.

The doe swallowed. Took a breath.

"Ohh," Dusky sighed, still at a standstill. Still inside her. Still slumped slightly over her back. "You feel wonderful ... mm ... "

A flush. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Really. You really, really do ... "

A smile. "Mm ... " Bell-Bell was beginning to see that, when it came to yiff, Dusky was like a whole other fur. When yiffing, he was very confident, playful, soothing, happy ... all the unease and anxiety he normally radiated seemed to fade aside. It was like, during yiff, their positions were REVERSED. The doe, normally the solid, confident one ... was totally inexperienced at this. And the rabbit had ALL the experience. In the field of general life, maybe Bell-Bell had the mental edge, but ... when it came to making love ... well, that was the rabbit's forte.

She wondered if it were true: that one was most bare and honest and genuine ... in bed. Or maybe 'bed' was just an escape. A refuge.

"You okay?" the rabbit cooed.

"Yeah," the doe whispered. "Just ... thinking."

"'Bout what?"

A pause. A soft smile, and a little sigh. And a response of, "How we seem to be slowly filling each other's gaps. Stabilizing each other. Making each other better. How our young mate-ship becomes more and more surprising ... and rewarding," she added, "with each passing hour." A breath. "How I love you."

The rabbit's ears burned. Flushing. And he closed his eyes and kissed the back of her neck. "Oh," he breathed. "I love you, too."

"Mm ... "

"But, darling, your ... your pussy's like a dream, and I ... I'm gonna lose it if ... I don't start humping." His breath picked up. A pant. "Mm ... mm ... ready?"

A helpless giggle. A nod. "By all means, bunny. By all means ... "

"You're the first fur," the rabbit confided, as he resumed his bucking. As he sighed heavily. "First fur that's ... made my orgasms feel like joy," he said, "and not just ...pleasure ... my penis feels incredible in you."

The deer smiled broadly, biting her lip. Still holding to the kitchen sink for support. Dusky was only twenty (three years younger than her). And his attempts at romantic poetry often came off as crude. As unintentionally humorous. But ... oh, they came from his brash, beating heart. And it was adorable! She giggled, and responded with a happy, "Thank you ... " So much of her new mate's personality, she now realized, was DEFINED by yiff. And through yiffing him, she was seeing a whole new side of him, and she really, really liked it. "Ohh ... " REALLY liked it ... and it was made all the better cause they were mates. Committed. Devoted. They could trust each other, no matter what ...

Oh, how this had worked out!

"Uhnn ... nnn ... uh!"

"Huh, huh," huffed Dusky, buttery fur matted with sweat. He and his deer naked, breeding on their foot-paws in the kitchen of his trailer. Just after sunrise.

"My clit ... D-duskeee ... "

Dusky, one paw hugging round her belly, followed her plea ... and moved his other arm. So his paw could fish down there and rub at her clitoris.

"Huhn! Huh!" The doe gasped, pointing her muzzle to the ceiling. "Ohh," she gurgled, receiving stimulation, seemingly, from every bit of her pussy. The rabbit's penis was 7 and 1/4 inches long. (As Dusky had erotically whispered to her last night. In contrast, Field's mouse-hood was a modest 5 inches ... or so Adelaide had confessed to Bell-Bell during a tipsy femme-to-femme chat. But Adelaide didn't seem to think 5 inches was short at all. Had said it was "just right," and that "anyway, it's not how big their thing is ... it's how they use it" ... the bat had shown her teeth at that.) The doe didn't know if 7-plus inches was average for rabbits or what, but ... she felt an instinctual pride at being filled by it. Which made her feel like a fool, but ... she couldn't make it go away. She wanted to brag about Dusky's cock. She wanted to kiss it. Wanted ... okay, okay, so she was DEFINITELY horny ... was there anything wrong with that?

No, she knew. No ... lust in a loving relationship was partly a manifestation of a physical need for each other. This wasn't callous. This was being done for all the right reasons ... and she couldn't wait to tell Adelaide about all this. Her mate-ship with Dusky. Losing her virginity. Yiff!

Because, now, when all the other furs got that gleam in their eye and talked about their mates and about yiff ... she wouldn't have to remain quiet. She wouldn't have to force a fake, sad smile. She wouldn't have to be gnawed at by that aching jealousy. By that monster of loneliness. No, cause SHE had a mate now, TOO. And ... she had yiff with someone she loved.

She had that pleasure now, too. And no one could take that away from her.

She had a mate.

She had love.

And she braced herself against the sink as the rabbit's humps and bucks became staccato. Became erratic. Like he was losing control of his own body. Like he was going into convulsions. Which, basically, he was. Convulsions of pleasure. As the sensitivity along his pink, stiff member, slick with her juices, nestled in her velvet, muscled pouch ... hump ... hump ... body starting to tingle. Starting to get so hot. Gasping for baited breaths. "Oh ... ohh, y-yeah ... mm-hmm, hmm ... uhhh," he exhaled. Hump, and ... hump, and ...

... slump! Slumping against her back. "Oohh ... ooh. Uh," the rabbit moaned, giving tiny rabbit-barks. Cock spurting jets of semen. Sowing inside the body of the femme he loved. Oh, the jolts and jerks of physical bliss, and how wet and warm her pussy was, and how soft and sweaty her fur ... " ... ohhh," he could only moan, as he endured his release. His bobtail jiggled about.

Just as her modest breasts jiggled, flopping as she leaned forward even more. As she went still. "Guhhh ... uhh," she bellowed. "Uhhh ... " Her vagina, her pussy ... just twitched. Spasms. Rolling, rippling waves of orgasm. Milking the cock inside her. Making her knees buckle. Her hooves scuffed weakly on the floor, femme juices dribbling to the base of her bunny's cock, matting his tight ball-sac.

The rabbit, still huffing, tweaked her hard nipples. "Feel good?" he purred into her cocked ear. His bare, buttery chest and belly on her tan back (with its sporadic, white spots).

"Ohh ... Dusky ... "

A pleased chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes ... "

"Heh ... y-yeah ... " She realized semen was stringing like molasses out of her vagina. Which was still filled with male rabbit. "How ... how come," she said, catching her breath, "you never run out of seed? Even after lots of times. You never have a dry orgasm?"

"Darling," he reminded gently. "I'm a bunny."

A sigh and a smile. "Mm ... yeah." An airy moan. Her nipples still tweaked. "Remind me," she grinned.

And Dusky did.

"You feeling better?"

An inhale through her nose. And the otter exhaled through her muzzle. "Up ... up ... "

The skunk did as told. In a pair of briefs. His penis tenting against the white, cotton fabric. He had two fingers in the otter's vagina. He curled them up a bit, massaging the roof of her canal. Pumping the fingers a bit.

"Mm ... " She was spread-legged in a chair at the kitchen table.

The skunk was on his knees on the floor.

Lumba's heat was in its tail end, but her body was sore from yesterday's crash. Her muscles were too stiff, she felt, to comfortably have intercourse. So, Welly was masturbating her ... to help her relax a bit. Give her pleasure.

"I'm proud of you."

She blinked. Looking to him.

"You've such strength," he explained. "Such determination. I just ... I admire you so much. And not just for those things ... "

The otter smiled warmly, giving him an accented, "Thank you, my mate."

He nodded politely. Smiling back. Still fingering her.

She closed her eyes. And sighed. As the skunk slowly pumped his fingers in and out. As he toyed with her clitoris. As he traced the folds of her pussy-lips. All of it. Slowly, slowly. Alternating between tasks. For about five more minutes ...

... and then she gently reached down and took hold of his arm. "You've not had breakfast yet."

"No, I ... oh."

She nodded, swallowing.

And the skunk, paws on her thighs, dove in. Lapping at the coarser, curly tufts of fur that lined the perimeter of her pussy-lips. And then the thin perimeter of velvet fuzz. And then the pink, fleshy lips themselves. Such soft and delicate things. He slobbered on them, parted them with his tongue ...

"Ohh," the otter sighed, gripping at the skunk's ears. "Ohh ... " It didn't take her long to cum. Five minutes or so. When she did, she barked, arching a bit ..

.

... the skunk sitting up with a wet, boyish grin.

She patted his head. "Mm ... "

"You're welcome," the skunk giggled, eyes bright.

"Uh ... we should get up." Lumba swallowed.

The skunk nodded. Withdrawing his paws from her thighs, and getting to a stand. And then helping her to a stand, also. The otter had qualified mid-pack. Thirteenth. Unlucky for some. If one believed in pure luck. Lumba did not. She believed, rather, in fate.

"Do you have my water bottles?"

"All filled. All chilled," he added. "Mm-hmm." The otter would have to load up on fluids before running tonight's race. She would lose a few pounds, perhaps, from sweating. From dehydration. But taking enough fluids beforehand would keep her hydrated enough.

The otter padded back and forth. Pulling on all her clothes. She cleared her throat, padding some more.

"Everything working?" the skunk asked, with a genuine, little smile. He was worried about her. He, too, dressed, his cock still hard. But he wanted to defer his own orgasm. To keep the tension. Keep him hyped up all through the day ... besides, she would probably suck him off during the crew's lunch break ... mm ...

"I must admit," she said softly, "I am more sore today ... " She looked at him. " ... than I was yesterday, right after the crash."

"Makes sense. That's normally how it goes ... you're just a bit stiff. I'm sure," he said, "once you move around and get all your blood flowing, you know ... you'll be okay."

"I am fit to race," she assured.

"I didn't say you weren't." He sidled up to her. And enveloped her in a hug. And leaned his forehead against hers. "I know you are. I just ... you're not super-furry. You may be a race car driver, but you're just as fragile as the rest of us."

"Just more driven," she supplied knowingly. Meeting his eyes. They'd talked about this yesterday.

"Yeah." A small smile. "Mm ... " The skunk nuzzled the otter's nose.

"I have a good feeling, Welly, about this. About this race. I feel I can do this."

"Finish? Or ... "

Her eyes sparkled. "Or," was all she said.

The skunk grinned. "Mm ... " A firm, warm hug. "Mm ... don't wanna let go."

"Perhaps I should call the rescue squad ... 'help, I'm caught in a skunk-trap' ... "

"Kiss me," he suggested, "and I might let you go?"

"Might?" she teased. But indulged him. Kissed. Soft, slow. Quiet.

And then it broke. And he let her go.

And she padded around some more. Reaching the door. "Ready?" she asked. For the skunk would be by her side all day, mostly.

"Yep," he said, grabbing the cooler of water bottles. "Mm ... hey, I was thinking, you know, that I might start writing stories. Like how you suggested when we first met. You know ... "

"I am happy for you," she said honestly, her tropical accent shining through. And her rich, brown eyes glowing.

"I thought I could write it about us. A love story. A journal, maybe, or ... you know, so that, someday, when we're older, and we're able to adopt a little otter or skunk of our own," he said (for they weren't genetically compatible enough to reproduce together; they would have to adopt ... or have her artificially inseminated). "Well, when that happens, we'll have a whole book of what our lives were like before ... to look back on. To share. To pass on."

"You could take pictures, too. Make a scrapbook."

"An autobiography," he suggested, grinning.

"No one would want to read my autobiography."

"When you start winning, and when you start making history ... then they will," he assured. He could still taste her orgasm on his tongue.

She flushed. "One step," she warned him kindly, "at a time." And she let out a breath. Smiling. "But I am so glad you've decided to keep writing. I know how much it means to you. I know you lost your job because of me."

"It's alright. I'd much rather write my own stuff than tow somebody else's line, anyway."

A bright smile. And she opened the door. "We must meet the day," she told him. And, turning to look at the sun, she whispered, "Hello, day."

The skunk giggled. He loved Lumba's sense of low-key playfulness. She showed it often (even during yiff). It was just one of the many things that attracted him to her personality.

And, together, they left the trailer. For the garages.

For, tonight ... they raced!