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"Left"

By Calypso

There's a certain way that my back arches when I feel the trickle of his fingertips over my side, and as he pushes his muzzle into the nape of my neck, huffing my scent like a true addict, the smile that creeps over my face is warmer than the sunlight on my toes. He always reaches for me with his left.

Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.

God, that's the most annoying sound in the world, I thought, groaning and slapping my alarm clock with one paw. I lifted my head slowly, one eye still closed, and peered at the wretched device, checking the time. Seven-thirty. Total bullshit.

I, as usual, was furious to be awake at such an ungodly hour, my hair wild and unruly, my limbs stiff and creaking. This is what I get for getting an education, I thought.

As I bemoaningly trudged into the bathroom, frustrated with the glaring light from above, I looked at myself in the mirror. What I saw was a tall, thin, black-furred wolf with bright-albeit tired-green eyes. My white-blond hair was long and thick, tapering in layers to my nipples, which flashed a soft pink on my swimmer's chest. Urgh, I'm going to age so fast if I lose sleep like this, I thought.

I was up at this horrible hour just after dawn to go to my Economics class, one of my least favorite. I showered lazily, nearly falling asleep several times under the sensual heat of the streaming water, which stroked my body with comfort. Woe is me, I thought. Sigh.

The aforementioned class was my least favorite at the time for two main reasons: one, it was dreadfully boring, and two, though I knew my work was hardly more competent than the three hundred other morons in the class, the simpering TA always gave me an "A" grade. You would think I'd be happy about receiving a high grade for sub-standard work, but I had several friends in that class, and when we compared notes and answers, we all agreed that the TA must have some sort of crush on me, because I wasn't any better at this stuff than anyone else. The thought of him repulsed me, though; he was the typical nerd in many senses, with glasses, a discount haircut, and a baggy t-shirt proclaiming some clever gamer quip that I'm sure someone somewhere understood. But, his nerdiness wasn't what bothered me. His attitude was just disgusting.

As I said, you would think I'd be happy for the "A" grades, but I'd never liked preferential treatment, especially not with me as the subject. And to pair it with the greasy, brown-nosing personality of that Jason was absolutely beyond discomfort for me.

I arrived at class that Wednesday morning completely entrenched in this negative line of thinking, hoping that when I put my next paper in my professor's box he'd have the decency to read it himself, when my friend Christa waved to me from a row down. I quickly caught up to her, sidestepping a slightly chubby red fox that was in my path, and sat down, sighing.

"Oh, starting on a good note, are we?" Christa commented sarcastically, batting her eyelashes at me.

"Shut the fuck up, you know I hate this class," I fumed.

"What, a TA likes you and gives you good grades and you complain? Jesus, I'd like to see what it actually takes to make you happy," she replied evenly.

"You know he's a little suck up, you've seen it. But anyway, what's going on? What happened with your date last night?" I changed the subject, hoping her social life would distract me from the inevitable stupor that came with the lecture.

"Urgh, nightmare, of course. I hate to admit it, but you seem to have a sixth sense for these things," she said. Christa's genuine nature had always been one of her best qualities. "Let's just say that I poured my drink in his lap and left."

"What?!" I exclaimed, laughing loudly. "What did he do to deserve that?"

"Stared at my boobs for like an hour straight. Eventually, I closed my eyes and said, 'Hey Adam, what color are my eyes?' He was like, 'What?' and I'm all, 'What color are my eyes?' So he's like, 'Uh...green?'" She sniffed, contempt in her voice.

"Nice," I said, drinking it in, "What a moron. See, I TOLD you he wasn't going to work out! Bud did you listen? I swear, it's like you have some sort of self-hating complex or something." It was true that I told her not to go out with Adam, mainly because I had heard he was a self-serving, ego-maniacal male chauvinist, but also because he wasn't very cute.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'm wrong, you're right, hail to the homo," she said, rolling her conspicuously gold eyes. "ANYWAY, what about YOUR date two nights ago? I never got to hear about THAT," she countered, a gleam in her smile.

"All right, settle down, class is starting," said Professor Chasm in his loud, yet boring voice over the sound system. No one ever seemed to notice when he came in the lecture hall, because he was already standing at his podium, clicker at the ready for his fifty-thousandth Powerpoint presentation.

The class went quiet, and I thought to myself, Thank God I don't have to relive that horror until later. Truth be told, my date on Monday hadn't been that bad, he'd just been so... I felt bad for thinking it, but the only word that came to mind was 'stupid'. He was just so caught up in drinking and the club scene and looking "OMG totally cute" all the time that he apparently didn't have time to pick up a book or even watch a thought-provoking movie. He was nice enough, but I was dying to leave the whole time. I had always been kind of the intellectual type, just not the sort that would push myself to my full capabilities, which is why I never was valedictorian or anything.

And here comes sleepy time, I thought, writing notes slowly in my straight, neat print. I took this chance to glance at Christa, and realized she was already looking at me. She pushed a piece of paper at me, which read, "So what happened with your date?"

Figures, I thought. I should have known she wouldn't give up that easily. So, I hastily scrawled a couple lines about how my date was as shallow as a dried mud puddle, and she scoffed under her breath. She wrote back, "You're so good at finding things wrong with people. No wonder you don't like any of the guys either of us date."

I stuck my tongue out at her, too lazy to write the curse words I was thinking. As she smirked at me, stifling another small laugh at my childish behavior, I studied her a little. People in high school had called us the "black twins." Christa was a black panther, tall and svelte like me, and with similar views on life-duh, how else would we be best friends. We had met in our junior year of high school when assigned as lab partners in a Chemistry class, and we'd been friends ever since. Now, my bright and witty friend was trying her hardest to be a lawyer, while I was majoring in English.

She ran her fingers through her short red hair, cut into a highly fashionable bob, and tapped her pencil on her desk, sighing. I could tell she was about to lull into listlessness just as I was. How typical that we'd be bored by the same class, too.

I turned my head to the right slightly, and I spotted him; Jason was sitting in the corner on a laptop, furiously typing. I had no doubt in my mind that he was typing everything Professor Chasm said in detail, regardless that he wasn't actually in the class. I assumed that Chasm made Jason type fresh notes for students to download if they missed class, though I didn't see why he couldn't just upload his Powerpoint, as it had all the pertinent information in it. Whatever, I thought. Then Jason looked up.

Professor Chasm had pulled a slide that was showing a graph, so there was no need for Jason to type what he was saying. So, Jason took this time to stare at me creepily, giving me a sycophantic smile and a little wave that I supposed was meant to be cute, but really shouted, "I GRADE YOU NICELY ON PURPOSE SO YOU'LL NOTICE ME!" I glared back at him, telling him with my eyes, "Not on your life!" and turned away.

When I dared to glance back, he looked very serious, but was staring at the computer screen, involved in his typing once more. He didn't look happy.

I felt a pang of guilt. I mean really, I didn't even know the guy, so I don't know why I made a bunch of judgements about him. For all I know, he could be really sweet and nice. For all I know, if he got a decent haircut, took his thick glasses off, and wore something that fit, he could be pretty cute.

Urgh, I thought, even if that were true, he's STILL an a brown-noser. Plus, even if he didn't have his nose up Professor Chasm's ass, he's a wolf. An Arctic wolf. I never dated other canines. I've always believed that opposites attract, and I always found other wolves and dogs and foxes so... so not me. The few boyfriends I'd had had been a tiger who turned out to be a cheating asshole, a leopard with mommy issues, and most recently, a black panther, whose supposed "bisexual tendencies" had me believing he was more attracted to Christa than me. In any case, despite these bad experiences with felines, they were still number one in my heart and loins.

I turned back to Professor Chasm and sighed. This was going to be a long day, I could already tell.

When class finally ended, Christa and I went for coffee, and she hounded me for a little more information about my date.

"You know," she said, "sometimes you can be really... harsh. Why don't you try going on a date with someone you wouldn't normally be attracted to? You might be surprised at what you like if you just get to know people and stop following your dick all the time." She said this with a somber face, which was funny to me, so I laughed.

"And who do you suggest?" I chuckled.

"Why don't you go out with that TA? He's kinda cute, and he definitely-"

"You did NOT just tell me to go out with him," I cut her off, annoyed. "Why?"

"Why NOT, Taylor? I love you, but you're so judgmental sometimes! What's wrong with Jason? He seems like a genuinely nice guy who likes you!" Christa countered, asserting herself on my weaknesses. I knew she was right.

"You know I don't like other wolves," I sneered back, though I knew the excuse was pathetic, not to mention exactly what she was looking for.

"EXACTLY! That's why you SHOULD go out with him! Try something new! You haven't even given other wolves a chance, so why don't you?" She looked at me imploringly.

"Where is this coming from, anyway?" I dodged. "Why are you so intent on hooking me up with another wolf?"

"Taylor, I just want to see you happy. I'm tired of hearing about your shitty boyfriends and even shittier hook-ups. People..." she looked hesitant, but decided to continue, "people kind of... kind of USE you, Taylor, and it's not right." She looked a little sad.

"Yeah, well..." was all I could muster. For once I was speechless. She had gotten straight to the core of my dating issues. I let myself be used because despite how strong a personality I had, when it came to being in a relationship or in bed with someone, I was actually kind of docile.

"Look, forget it, let's just talk about something else..." she said with a smile.

I was thankful for the change in subject, but couldn't help thinking, I don't have to necessarily date another wolf. Why don't I just try TALKING to Jason?

As the week passed by in a haze, I found that Jason slipped from my mind. What with class, homework, and my social life, I hardly found time to sleep. I went to a party with my friends Ryan and Marissa, got wasted, and was almost late to a test the next day. Then, I hung out with Christa for karaoke and got drunk again, singing-or rather, shouting-a horrible rendition of some Celine Dion song I don't even remember.

Before I knew it, it was Wednesday morning again, and there I was, examining the white patch of fur on my chest that ran down my stomach, surrounded my cock and coated my balls, and down the underside of my tail slightly. Then, I stretched and yawned, shaking off residual water from my shower and setting my mind to the awful task of Econ.

When I arrived outside the lecture hall, Christa was waiting for me as usual, always the early bird. It sickened me.

We went to sit down and allow dust to collect on us for an hour or so, when I spotted Jason walking in. He saw me, then kept walking without a smile, his usual baggy t-shirt and jeans doing nothing for him, his hair parted straight down the middle, which made him look like a complete doofus. I could see his tail hang low, and for some reason, I still couldn't shake the ill feeling he gave me. Blech, I thought. Maybe I won't talk to him.

"I see that look on your face, and you're just proving me right, I hope you know," Christa said, her hair in curls, a grin on her face. "Judgemental!"

"Dammit, you know how I hate proving you right!" I chuckled.

"Let's just get to class," she mused, clearly enjoying being right, as she usually did.

Econ started slow-par for the course-and continued in that manner. I was in a hazy state of mind when my gaze shifted around the room, then focused on Christa, who was looking at me already.

"What?" I whispered under my breath, trying not to make it too obvious that we were talking.

"Jason is...well, he's STARING at you-NO! Don't look!" she hissed, then paused, waiting to see if anyone noticed her rise in tone. No one had. "He's been looking at you for the entire class, I'm sure of it. And...well, the look he's giving you...let's just say it's not as friendly as it usually is." She looked kind of worried, but I shrugged it off.

"Whatever...little Jason is probably just pissed that I glared at him last week, that's all. Get over it, Christa, why do I care what he thinks anyway?" I sighed, mildly irritated at having been woken from my reverie, and allowed myself to gaze off again, counting the minutes until the end of class.

When I arrived back at my apartment that afternoon, keen on getting a paper done for my American Literature class the next day, I noticed a letter in my mailbox. The envelope was a dark red color, glaring obviously against the cold gray of the box, and I pulled it out, intrigued. There was my name, penned in a somewhat untidy scrawl, but my address wasn't there, nor a stamp nor return address. Huh, I thought. Weird.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a crisp, cream-colored piece of stationery, which was folded a little hastily, I could tell. I started to read as I walked to my front door.

Taylor,

You're so beautiful, but you don't even know I exist. The way you run your paw through your hair, the way you smile, the way you laugh at your friend's jokes, all intrigue me. Your eyes make me melt, and your body is amazing. Everything about you is so perfect. But you don't care about me. You don't notice me.

You didn't even notice when I stared at you for the entire Econ class today. The whole time I was staring right at you, hoping you'd look at me, but you didn't.

I stopped reading the letter for a moment, slightly scared. I realized that this was a love letter, but it was so much more than that. It seemed like the person who wrote it was obsessed with me. And it was pretty clear that Jason wrote it. I shook a little, then read on:

I love you Taylor. I love you so much it hurts. I want you so badly. I want you to be mine. I love you, I love you, I love you.

There was no signature.

I felt... violated. Like someone had touched me when I specifically asked them not to. I felt naked and scared.

I immediately locked the door behind me upon entering my third floor apartment, and I shuddered again. Why would Jason write this? Could one glare really have hurt him that badly? Was he really secretly obsessed with me?

I decided to call Christa to figure this out.

"Hello?" she answered on the third ring.

"Chris, it's me," I said.

"Oh hey, what's up? We just saw each other, didn't know you were so attached..." she joked with me.

"Listen Chris, I...I just found this letter in my mailbox...and it freaked me out..."

"What? What did it say?" she asked, concerned.

"Well..." I said, and then hastily, shakily, I read her the letter, finishing much more quickly than I thought possible. The letter's impact on me was so great, I had been sure it was much longer. But no, the few words written had the power of volumes.

"Oh God...that's GOT to be from Jason, I mean who else stares at you all class? That's... that's just really weird and creepy..." she said, obviously uncomfortable with the letter's message as well.

"And you wanted me to talk to him! To date him!" I said angrily. "At least my judgmental side paid off this time!"

"Look, I didn't know he was crazy, okay? Although..." she said, "you actually might want to consider talking to him. Wait! Just hear me out. I know we THINK it's Jason who wrote that letter-"

"More like we're dead sure," I replied acidly.

"Look, we THINK he did, but there's no proof. If...God forbid, if anything ELSE happens, any other letters that are more serious, we'll need proof before we go accusing anybody of anything. So it might...it might be a good idea for you to at least get to know Jason a LITTLE, that way you can get close enough to see his pawwriting..."

"It's totally his writing! He grades our homework, remember?" I countered, confident that that was proof enough.

"Taylor, he writes a fucking NUMBER on our homework, and he probably does it really quickly, so it's not like it gives an accurate measurement of his penmanship, and you know it!" Christa shot back, defiant to the end.

"So what, I'm just supposed to buddy up to this guy that's clearly fucking obsessed with me? That's just not smart!" I said.

"You don't have to become best fucking friends, Taylor, just close enough to get your paws on something he's written down. Plus, if you feel out the situation a little, you might be able to tell right off the bat if he's a creep or not. What if he wrote it, but it was just like some really emotional thing he was going through, and he totally regrets sending it? Or something?" she said hopefully.

"Okay, okay, fine. So what's the plan, then? How do I go about this?" I asked, determined to fix the problem, as I always had been when presented with a challenge.

"Well, next week, when we go to class, try getting there a little early and catching him when he's walking in. Be sweet, use your charm, you get the picture," she explained. "Laugh at any jokes he makes, try to be as interested in him as you can. Then, ask him to help you with some homework or something, something to get a pen in his paw. Hopefully, if you play your cards right, one meeting is all you'll need to prove his guilt...or innocence," she added as an afterthought.

"Urgh, do I HAVE to?" I whined.

"Unless you want this to turn into a Grade-A stalker situation, I'd hurry the fuck up," she replied.

"Damn it, I hate when you're right!" I sighed.

"Me too," she replied a little sadly.

I couldn't bring myself to attend any parties or hang out with friends much. I mostly kept to myself that week, trying to force myself to study, to shake the fear and worry out of myself. I mean, for all I knew, the letter was just some lovesick confession of Jason's, and that it was harmless. But I couldn't shake the feeling of imminent danger.

When Wednesday came again, I was extremely nervous. I barely slept Tuesday night, so I was groggy, but I was also wired and agitated. I just wanted this situation resolved.

I forced myself to look my best, despite my better judgment, my long hair blown dry and touchably soft, my fur preened and pristine, and my outfit a cute combination of plaid casual slacks, a white v-neck t-shirt, black suspenders, and a purple fedora hat. Great, now I'm dressing up for my stalker, I thought.

When I arrived outside the lecture hall ten minutes early, barely anyone was there. A couple of girls I recognized from class were smoking next to a tree, and a light breeze made someone in my peripheral vision lose a couple pages from a stack of papers. I looked, but it wasn't Jason. He looked kind of frazzled, though, and helpless, and I felt a twinge of pity. So, I wandered over to him, picking up a few sheets.

"Here you go. Windy today, huh?" I said, smiling.

The fox, still on his knees, looked up at me, clearly stunned to see me there. He hadn't heard me walk over, he had been too busy catching his work. He didn't reply, just took the papers timidly from my outstretched paw.

"Hang on to those!" I added, smiling a little more. He seemed so nervous and stressed. Mid-terms are coming up, I thought, he really needs to cut back on the studying.

"Th-Thanks," he said softly, smiling a little back at me.

"You're welcome!" I replied. I had been bending slightly, and when I stood to my full height again and turned my head, I noticed something that caught my eye. It was Jason walking toward the lecture hall. My heart jumped in my chest, and I fidgeted a little before sweeping off after him, determined to talk to him.

"Jason!" I had to call lamely to stop him from reaching the door before I could catch up.

"Yeah?" he responded a little coldly, turning to face me. As I walked up, his expression was a little grim, but it kind of morphed into surprise when he realized it was me who was talking to him.

"Um, hi!" I said. God I'm a moron, I thought.

"Uh hi," Jason replied, though his tone was a little softer. The corners of his mouth turned up just slightly. That's a cute expression, I thought. WHOA! Back up! Stalker alert!

"S-so, um, yeah...you're the TA!" I reached. IDIOT!

"Yeah, that I am," he said. I could swear his mouth flashed a little grin, but I couldn't be sure. It was like he was enjoying this torture I was going through. Probably getting off on me just talking to him, I thought.

"Oh my God, I'm so rude. I'm-"

"Taylor Dawson. Yeah, I know," he said. "I grade your papers."

I feel like a total buffoon talking to this psycho, I thought to myself. "Of course! Sorry, apparently I'm a little retarded in the morning..." Maybe being overly humble will work?

"Hardly," he replied, but there was a honey-sweet quality to the tone he used. "As I recall, you've been getting 'A's all semester."

"Yeah! How 'bout that!" I said, not wanting to imply that he was the one making that a reality. "So, um...I don't know, I guess I've just been meaning to say hi, you know, introduce myself for a while, but I never got around to it-"

"What exactly is it you want with me, Taylor?" Jason asked softly, without malice. He just knew I was rambling. He could see right through me. Yet I couldn't read him at all.

"Well, um, you know, I was kind of struggling with my homework..." I started, feeling ridiculous.

"You seem to have been doing excellently before now," he said. Damn him for grading my papers so high!

"Well, I know, um, but I can't seem to understand what we went over last week about supply, and I don't want it to affect my grade on the midterm, so, um...yeah..."

"You were hoping I would help tutor you, I suppose?" he asked. God, he's really well-spoken...from the dorky expression he usually has when he looks at me, I thought he'd be speaking in computer acronyms like "lol" and "omfg" and "rotfl".

"Um, yeah! If you could just sit down with me and explain it a little more, maybe write out a couple notes for me to study...?" Oh my God, I'm being so damn obvious, it's like ridiculous. I might as well just say, 'Hey, are you stalking me? Because, not cool.'

"Well, I'm busy this afternoon, but I could get together later tonight or some time this week, if you like." He seemed very...approachable. Kind. Friendly. I bet all the stalkers are like that right before they cut you, I thought pessimistically.

"Tonight would be great!" I said. "Like at the coffee house down the street? Say, eight o'clock?"

"That's fine," he said. And he genuinely smiled for the first time. And...my heart kinda felt tight and warm and...gushy. God, he has a really cute smile, I thought. And then I mentally bitch-slapped myself about six times. STALKER!

"I guess we'd better get inside..." I mumbled, seeing all the people in the class filing into the hall for the lecture.

"I suppose so. It was nice to finally make your acquaintance, Taylor." He held out his paw to shake mine, but I realized when I offered mine that they weren't matching. He had held out his left. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm left-pawed..." he said, sticking out his right instead and shaking my paw. His was warm and soft, yet strong, and really big. I'd have swooned if I didn't think he'd stab me and eat my liver or something.

"It was nice to meet you, too," I said. He opened the door to the hall for me, and I thanked him, desperate to find Christa and tell her the news in a note that I was sure would take me at least five minutes to write.

Class went surprisingly quickly, as I was actually writing accurate notes for once. I decided that if I were going to pass it off that I didn't understand the material, I'd better have something to work with, though I realized too late that I had said last week's material confused me. Oh well, I thought. I'll make some excuse like I figured it out, but I need help with this week. It'll work out, and I'll make him write something if it kills me. Okay, maybe not go that far, I reasoned, seeing as how he might want that.

"Psst... hey, do you want me to go with you tonight? Say I wanted to crash the study party to help my grade?" Christa whispered.

"Chris, he grades your work. He knows your grade is fine," I replied softly. "Though I wouldn't mind if you hang out at the coffee house with a friend or something to keep an eye out, make sure nothing happens..." I trailed off. I didn't want to think about something like that.

When class ended, I gathered up my stuff quickly, nerves getting to me. I knew I'd never get anything done today, so I decided to go to the gym and swim. As Christa and I climbed the stairs out of the lecture hall, I locked eyes briefly with Jason from across the hall, and he gave me a very sweet smile. And, despite my better judgment, I gave a very sweet smile back. He's got a great smile, I thought. For a stalker.

When I got back to my apartment complex, I shuddered when I reached the mailbox. I could almost feel the red letter from the other side of the door, as if it were radiating a sort of heat. A very frightening heat.

I opened the box, determined that the worst a letter could do was paper-cut me to death, and there it sat, again with no address, just my name in an untidy scrawl. I ripped open the bloodred envelope quickly, wondering how I could get any more creeped out, and read the letter slowly:

Taylor,

God you are so beautiful. You're so so so beautiful. I love you so much. I love you.

When you talked to me today, I thought I would die of happiness. You're so beautiful up close. I just wanted to kiss you right there, to hold you, to make you mine. My beautiful little wolf.

I know we'll see each other again soon, but I already miss you so much that it kills me. I can't wait until I see your beautiful face again. I love you.

I'm going to make you mine, Taylor. You're my everything, and soon, I'll be yours. Forever. We're going to be together.

Just you wait. I love you. Forever.

My God, I thought. Jason is literally obsessed with me. No crush, no unrequited love. Just obsessed. Completely obsessed. My heart was pounding, a sickening lump was in my throat, and I couldn't breathe. I was thinking about blowing him off for studying, or going to the police, or something, but I realized I had to confirm my suspicions before doing anything. And, if I blew him off, he'd probably just snap and kill me. Don't think that, I reprimanded myself. Maybe if you figure out it's him, and you just explain that you're not interested...

Yeah, and get shanked, I thought.

When I got to the gym over an hour later, I was still visibly shaken, and I was glad that most of my friends were more into running...or sleeping. Here, I could just relax and swim. I had been swimming since I was a child, and was on the swim team in high school. I gave it up competitively, but it was always the best workout for me.

When I got to the pool, it was virtually empty, which suited me fine. There were a couple of girls hanging out in the shallow end, looking like they were having more fun chatting than exercising, a big grizzly bear doing laps in one of the lanes, and a guy in the corner who looked like he was just packing up.

I smiled, happy to work off some stress, and set my stuff down on a bench to the side, peeling off my jacket, t-shirt, shoes, and jeans. When I took that first dive, I felt the cool rush of chlorinated water through my fur, and I was free. I was home.

As I swam two hundred meters freestyle, I pondered what the evening had in store for me. With all of my limbs moving, it seemed easier to think with a clear head. I thought, as I flip-turned after my fourth lap, that it wouldn't be too hard to discern if Jason was obsessed with me. From my experience with English, and with language in general, people usually had what I'd heard referred to as a "writer's voice." Meaning, when they're writing something with any kind of meaning, you can almost hear them speaking them as you read them. If I get any hints that he sounds like the person in the letter, I can always confront him about it right there, I thought to myself. Unless he's completely insane, there's no way he'd attack me in front of a crowd of people at the coffee shop. Plus, Christa will have my back. Yeah, that's it. Got a plan.

About an hour and a half later, after a very thorough swim, I hit the showers, scrubbing the chlorine from my fur and hair. Then, with the nervousness slapping me in the face like a malicious paw, I dressed and walked back to my apartment, trembling slightly.

The time passed quickly. Before I knew it, it was seven-thirty, and I was just leaving home, taking my bag with me, my Econ homework inside. I called Christa on her cell; she picked up after only one ring.

"Hey Taylor, are you leaving?" she asked immediately.

"Yeah, you know, get this shit over with," I replied.

"Did you bring the letters, just in case you need to confront him?" she queried.

"Of course!" I said. "Look, you're going to be there, right?"

"I'm almost there right now. Wanted to make sure I was early and all... Hey, it's going to be okay, all right? He's not going to do anything with people around, and hey, it might not even be him, right?" she said hopefully.

"Yeah, right," I responded, unconvinced. "Just make sure you sit far enough that he doesn't notice you, I'm sure that if he's the stalker then he knows we're good friends."

"Don't worry, I'm kinda under cover anyway. You'll see. See you soon."

"Okay, bye."

I hung up just as I was crossing the street, completing the first of around ten blocks that I would walk to the coffee shop. I walked quickly, despite myself, my nerves pushing me at a rapid, unnatural pace. My heart was pounding. What if he wants to kill me? What if he hurts Christa to get to me? Fucking Jason, that son of a bitch...

When I got to the cafe, it was still a quarter till eight, and I was thankful that when I walked in, I didn't immediately spot Christa. She was sitting with two friends in the far left corner of the place, and she looked...well, I wouldn't have recognized her if I hadn't been expecting the disguise.

She had decided to wear a long black wig, the hair on it very straight, and wire-rimmed glasses. She also had a scarf around her neck, she was wearing a dark shade of lipstick, and her clothes were covering most of her. She had chosen to cover up and make herself look a little plainer, clearly to draw the least amount of attention to herself possible. She gave me a thumbs up when we made eye contact, then continued to talk to her friends, clearly not wanting to appear to notice me, in case Jason showed up.

I sat down at a table on the other side of the coffee shop next to a window. The lighting was good, there was a view of the street (which I assumed meant that the street had a view of me), and the table was big enough to work. Perfect.

Not two minutes later, I heard the bell tinkle on the door, and I jumped. I thought, Yeah, like Jason's going to show up fifteen minutes early. When I glanced at the door, I had to do a double take. It was Jason, but he looked so much different than I had ever seen him.

Jason spotted me and walked toward me, and I gaped. I unabashedly stared.

The tall (even taller than me!) Arctic wolf had gotten a fantastic, shortish, texturized haircut, the white strands of hair styled with what looked to be pomade. His face, unencumbered by the large glassed he usually wore, was strikingly handsome, his warm brown eyes gleaming in the light. He had on a fitted t-shirt under an open jacket that showed off a much more impressive physique than I thought possible for him to have, and the rest of his outfit was not only stylish, but downright cute. He looked like a totally different person.

"Hey Taylor," he greeted with a genuine smile, offering his left paw to shake. He noticed his mistake, but before he could switch to his right, I placed my left in his, grasping firmly.

"Hi Jason," I replied dreamily. I was so dumbfounded by his change in appearance that I had forgotten to be nervous. "You...you look...different!"

Oh my God, I want to die. Different?

"Yeah," he said, sitting down across from me, his leather bag at his feet. "I told you I had to meet at night because of all the errands I had to run today. Funny story, actually...the way you've been seeing me in class really isn't me." He looked me in the eyes, and God was he charming.

"What do you mean? Like the way you dress and stuff?" I asked.

"Yeah. Well, basically, to sum up the way I've looked for several weeks now, over summer I went on a trip to Europe, but on the flight home, the airline lost my luggage, which had pretty much my entire wardrobe in it," he explained.

"No! That SUCKS!" I replied.

"Yeah, it was a nightmare. The airline, of course, said they weren't liable, and that it was always a potential risk. Whatever. I got over it. Anyway, so I've been borrowing my cousin's clothes for a while now. He's totally into games, as you can tell," he said with a smile. A really cute smile. Focus, Taylor! I thought. Don't be seduced! He's a stalker and a suck-up and a freak!

"Oh yeah, totally," I said, giggling a little. That's right Taylor, ACT.

"Well, I just got a job a few weeks ago, and I finally got my first paycheck on Friday, but I wasn't able to go shopping until today. So, I got some new contacts, FINALLY, and some new threads. You like?" he asked. He was treating me like a friend, like we had known each other for years, and I liked it, despite myself. I really liked how easy-going he was being.

"Yeah, much better!" I said. Then I slapped myself mentally. "I mean, you look great. Not that you didn't look good before, but you...I like it." IDIOT!

"Heh, thanks, but you don't have to humor me. I know I was swimming in my cousins clothes. Oh, plus my hairdresser just came back from maternity leave, so I was finally able to get a haircut! Good Lord was that necessary!" he added, laughing a little.

I love his laugh, it's so damn cute, I thought. Can...can he really be stalking me? He's not creepy at all!

"Looks great," I said truthfully.

"Well, thank you," he replied. Urgh, that SMILE! It makes my heart race! "You look good, too, Taylor."

There was a brief, yet lingering silence where we just looked at each other, and I felt as though something just...clicked. Something felt really right. And I wasn't sure why. "Thanks," I said softly, feeling the blush underneath my fur.

"So, let's get to work, I suppose!" he said briskly, as if to liven the mood. "Can't imagine what you need help with, with such a WONDERFUL professor teaching you," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm, eyes rolling.

"Oh, I thought you liked Professor Chasm?" I asked. If he really wasn't a suck-up, then every prejudgment I ever made about him was false.

"Oh he's a nice enough guy, a little pompous, but I don't approve of his teaching methods. Droning on and on like he does, it's a wonder anyone stays awake!" he laughed. "I usually just type emails or write short stories under the pretense of writing his notes. Please, like I need to type out everything he says. It's all-"

"In the Powerpoint! God, I say the same thing!!" I laughed. I was having a good time, and he had only been there five minutes. I was having a good time, and I had suspicions of him being a stalker, a creeper, a freak. I was having a good time because I really liked him.

"So, what is it you're having trouble with?" Jason asked. "Oh, you know, probably better if I sit next to you..." And with that, he sidled over adjacent to me, while I leaned over and pulled out some work, prepared to ask him about topics I already knew the answers to.

Jason and I went over Economics, but we kept being distracted by side conversations. We talked about music, about writing, which we both loved to do, and about silly things like celebrities and classes and other useless topics. Finally, when we could focus, he explained some things.

"And that's how supply affects these different economic factors...though you knew that already," Jason said.

I, surprised, replied, "What do you mean? I asked you to help because I didn't really get that part..."

"Oh you understand all right. Taylor, haven't you noticed that you seem to get higher grades in Economics than the people you usually choose to study with?" he asked. He seemed suddenly more serious, and the attitude shift kind of rustled me.

"I...hadn't really thought of it..." I lied...poorly. I was sure my eyes would give me away, but he didn't question my answer.

"You get better grades because I can tell that you understand the material, and that you have a great mind. Half the time, you'd get full marks if you'd only try a little harder, apply yourself more," he said with a soft smile.

Oh my God, I feel like a fool, I thought. All this time I thought he had some crush on me, when really, he's just a good TA. He could totally still be the stalker, though...

"You...you think so?" I said, smiling back. I realized that we were leaning toward each other, a lot closer than I ever thought we would, but I didn't back away.

"Yeah! But my question is, why did you ask me here? I know you know the material, I grade your work, after all. Why ask me to tutor you if you don't need the help?"

My gaze averted to the cold, half-drunk coffee to my right. What was I supposed to say? I asked you to tutor me because I think you're stalking me and I wanted to be sure?

"Well, um..." I said, trying to think fast. "Well, you seemed like a nice enough guy, and I thought that we could, you know...hang out. Be friends." I'm a shitty liar, but I hope that sounded okay, I thought.

"Oh...friends. Yeah! Yeah, that's cool," he said, though his ears gave him away. His perfect, pointed ears drooped just a little when his lips fell on the word 'friends,' and the gesture made me want to nibble them and lick them to perk them back up. God, what am I, ATTRACTED to Jason now? He's a wolf and a TA!

"So, uh, um... you wanna hang out some time?" I asked. Dammit, that sounded moronic, I thought.

"Yeah, that's cool," he said again. "Any ideas?"

"Well, my friend Christa and I are going to this party on Friday. You could come with us!" I said. Wow, invite the stalker along for the ride. Good plan!

"I think I'd like that," he said honestly. His honesty killed me, because I could tell that my original suspicions were true. He liked me. And, I was kind of starting to like him.

"Well, uh, why don't you, uh, write down your address, and uh, we'll pick you up!" I said. I felt like I sounded completely lame, which I did.

"Don't worry about it. Got your phone?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied, pulling my cell out.

"Text me later, I'll meet up with you there," he said. "Number's 555-0119."

I entered the number, not even believing that I didn't get a single writing sample yet. When I looked up from my phone, I again noticed how closely we were leaning. His brown eyes were beautiful in the dim light, and his black nose gleamed. His ears twitched, touched with pink on the inside. Those perfect ears I wanted to gnaw.

"Got it," I said. Oh, and by the way, are you writing me freaky love letters? I wanted to say.

"Well, I really have been having a great time, Taylor, but I'd better be off. It's getting late, and I've gotta wake up early tomorrow," Jason said, lifting his arms over his head and stretching.

Phone in paw, I checked the time.

"Oh my God, it's eleven o'clock! How the hell did that happen?" I said, surprised. I cast a glance over at Christa and her group, not surprised to find them looking sleepy and annoyed to still be here.

"Well, I guess when you're having a good time, the hours fly by," he said to me. He flashed me a grin, and my heart skipped a beat. He's so obviously flirting with me, but it's...it's working. How could I misjudge someone so badly? I guess that's what I get for just assuming... I thought to myself. I mean, he's totally my type, super hot, and... and...

And stalking me, said the more reasonable part of my inner voice.

"I guess you're right," I flirted back, shameless as usual. "I'm really glad we did this, I think we'll be great friends."

"I'm glad we did this, too," he said, not mentioning anything about being friends. He offered his left paw to me as he stood up, and I shook it with mine. Apparently this is becoming our little inside joke thing, I thought. Wait, he's obsessed with me and we have a THING? God, what am I getting myself into?

"Bye Jason, have a good night." I smiled. His brown eyes were seducing me again, gazing at me. His ears were begging to be gnawed. His body stripped of all clothing...

Okay, now you're going too damn far! my logical side yelled, slapping the horny side resoundingly.

"Bye Taylor. Oh, do you need me to walk you home, or are you okay by yourself?" he asked concernedly. "I mean, I know the college area isn't a bad neighborhood, but a young gay wolf on his own at this hour? I'd feel better knowing you got home safe." His tone was sincere, not creepy. It was actually really sweet, and he knew how to make my heart go gushy, I concluded. But wait, I thought of something.

"Um...how'd you know I was gay?" I asked. "Is it that obvious?"

"I had a hunch. I mean, you knew I was, right? Gaydar, I guess. We're just built to find each other," he replied. I appreciated that he didn't say something like, 'Because you look like a homo,' or something to that affect.

"I guess so," I agreed. I can't let him walk me home, though, I thought. Even though he's doing a really good job of convincing me he's not the stalker, I can't be too safe until I'm sure. "But don't worry about it, I don't live far, I can make it on my own."

"Oh, okay then. Well, hurry home, and be safe!" he said. There was no other way to describe his tone but 'sweet.' He was so fucking sweet that I felt a cavity forming, and I loved it.

"I will, MOTHER," I joked, laughing.

"Heh, bye now," he said, giving me that heartwarming smile and turning to leave. Damn him.

"Bye," I said. And he was gone. Christa waited for about five minutes before she rushed over to the table to get the scoop, and she immediately looked suspicious when she looked at me.

"What?" I said to her.

"You LIKE him! You like him a LOT!" she exclaimed rather loudly, with much surprise.

"I do NOT!" I replied acidly. "He's just gotten a lot cuter since he had his makeover day, that's all!"

"No way, it's totally more than that," she argued, "though I agree. You really dig on him! It's so obvious, the way you were staring off like an idiot in dreamland..."

"Oh bite me," I snarled.

"See, and you're getting defensive! Does that mean he's not the stalker?"

"I am NOT defensive, and I'm not sure. I couldn't get a sample of his writing to compare. But from the conversation we had, I would say...well, I mean he doesn't sound like the creepy letters, but in my mind, a stalker would totally try to play it off like he was cool and calm, when he really wants to cut me up." I shuddered involuntarily. So many mental images of my death had occurred to me in such a short time that it was becoming a habit.

"Well, I say you stay completely vigilant. Don't let your guard down, or who knows what might happen! I mean, let's keep in mind, we don't know anyone else who'd want to stalk you. He gives you good grades on purpose, he stares at you all the time, and the stuff in the letters adds up to the interaction you've had with him." She looked very serious. "I'm scared, Tay. I'm scared of what this guy is capable of."

"I am, too, honey, that's why we've got to rule out as many people as we can. I've got to get him to write something for me. But how am I going to do that? And for that matter, what if he changes his writing style because he's expecting me to get him to write something down?" I was nearly mumbling, the fur on the back of my neck standing on end, my mind racing.

"Why didn't you confront him about the letters?" Christa asked, pulling her wig off. "Damn itchy thing," she muttered.

"I...I don't know. I guess... he was just being really sweet, Chris, you should have heard him. I think...I think this guy really does like me." I said, and I blushed.

"Oh my God, don't even give me that look! I just said that we need to be careful with him, and you're swooning! Stop it!" She slapped my paw, and I glared at her. "He's seducing you! What if all this getting cute out of nowhere isn't a coincidence? What if he's TRYING to get cuter to lure you in?"

"That...that actually makes sense," I said, even more worried. "Oh God, what do I do? I invited him to go to the party with us on Friday!"

"You did?" she said, shocked. "Actually, I guess that's a good thing. It'll give you a second chance at confronting him about those letters. With all those people there, he's not going to cause some scene. Plus I'll back you up." She smiled at me, a pitying smile. "We're going to get through this, Tay, don't worry."

"I'll try not to bite all my claws off," I replied, downtrodden. I have to confront him? What if he denies it? Urgh, this sucks, I thought.

The next couple days passed in a blur, and it frustrated me that time always seemed to fly when I wanted it to slow. When Friday evening rushed through the door, I found myself sitting on my bed in my room, sighing, a couple of things draped on the bed to wear, though none looked appealing. What do you wear to get a stalker to confess to stalking you?

My cell phone rang loudly, and I jumped about seven feet in the air, my nerves getting to me once more. I was already the type to stress about everything, so this letter business was really pushing me to my limits.

"Yeah?" I said, more irritated with myself than the caller.

"Hey Taylor, are you ready to go? I want to get there early. Better to get this over with, right?" Christa asked. She didn't sound like she had even convinced herself. I could hear the worry in her voice.

"I...I can't figure out what to wear, my hair's not done, I...I can't do this, Chris!" I cried out. I felt tears welling in my eyes. I was getting more and more scared by the day, and though Jason gave me a warm feeling when we hung out, after we had parted ways, I felt doubt, fear, and panic creep in at double the intensity, especially given how seductive and convincing Jason had been.

"Yes you can, Tay! You're strong, you can do it. I'll be right behind you the whole time! Don't worry, everything's going to be fine. We're going to nail this creep, and once he confesses, we'll get him sent to jail or get a restraining order or something," Christa said encouragingly. I wasn't sure if she was pumping me up or herself, but either way, it helped a little bit. Very little.

"Okay, okay...I'll do it...now what should I wear?" I pleaded.

"Lord, just throw something-"

"Oh my God, do NOT tell me to 'just throw something on!'" I said, annoyed. "I don't want to have to think right now!"

"Okay, fine, calm down... Why don't you wear those hot dark jeans that make your ass look amazing with that shredded white top you have?" she suggested. She could tell that normally, I'd be telling HER what to wear, not the other way around, and that I really was just nervous and stressed. And frantic, really.

"That sounds good...I'll do that then," I agreed, sighing. "I'll meet you outside my place in like 20 minutes, 'kay?"

"All right, honey. Just relax! I'll be there soon. Bye," she said consolingly.

"Bye." I hung up, glad to at least have a plan of action.

I dressed slowly, slipping into my tight jeans with my eyes closed, then pulling my shredded white cotton shirt over my head, the ropelike texture of the remaining fabric revealing my black and white swimmer's physique underneath. I glanced at myself in the mirror, beyond caring at this point, and shrugged, turning to the bathroom.

After running a flat iron through my hair and applying a little "guyliner" (God, sometimes pop culture's a bitch) and mascara, I felt as ready as I ever would be. So, I stuffed some cash and my ID into my pocket, grabbed my keys and cell phone, and headed downstairs to walk with Christa to the party, realizing when I got to the ground floor that I didn't bring a jacket. Oh well, I thought, less to carry. I'll tough it out on the walk there.

Christa looked really cute in a strapless, form-fitting purple dress and white pumps, her matching white clutch tucked neatly under one arm.

"See, what did I tell you?" she said. "You look great! Let's see the ass!"

I showed her my rear, bending a little and slapping it. I was trying to be cute, but it was an act. "You are a genius, after all."

"Well I certainly don't hear that enough," she laughed a little. I could hear the nervousness in her laugh.

"Okay, let's get this show on the road," I said.

"Did you bring the letters?" she asked, looking skeptically at my lack of bag or bulging pockets.

"I figured that if I confront him with them, he could always snatch them and tear them up, and I really didn't feel like having more than one copy of those things floating around. So, I'll just threaten him with them, tell him I have the originals safe, yadda yadda you get it." It helped me relax to talk about my plan. Made me feel more steadfast in my position.

"That actually makes sense," she agreed. "It's just...how are you going to approach him about it? I mean, is there a 'right time' to say, 'Hey, are you stalking me?'"

We were already halfway to the party by this point. I realized that I was at a frenetic pace again, and I was forcing her to keep time with me. "I...I'm not sure. I guess getting him into a good mood would help...you know, lower his guard, defenses down. A couple drinks wouldn't hurt him, either. He'll be much less likely to think of some clever lie that way." I couldn't believe how thoroughly I was examining the stalker before me. But, I reasoned, I've got to focus on every detail...it's what he does.

When we arrived at the party, this time at a house that four of our friends rented together, it was already pretty crazy. Christa and I were the type to show up fashionably late and already a little drunk, so this was odd for us to be there around nine-thirty. Regardless of the early time, the party raged, however.

Buzz buzz. My phone was on vibrate now, and I had just gotten a text message. I pulled it out, and saw Jason's name pop up.

"Oh my God, read it!" Christa said, peering at my phone and pinching my arm in an effort to hurry me up.

"I'm TRYING, Pinchy!" I snapped. The text read: "Hey are you here yet? I'm hangin in the back room."

I hurriedly texted back: "We just got here. See you soon!"

"God, you might as well just put a little heart at the end and call it a night, LOVER," Christa mocked sarcastically.

"Shut the fuck up! Don't forget why we're here and who he is!" I reprimanded angrily. I was in no mood to be teased about liking Jason when he was the reason I wasn't getting much sleep lately.

"I'm just hoping that whatever happens here, we can find out what's going on with this creeper soon, whether it's Jason or not. It's...it's really scary, Taylor," Christa said shakily.

"I know, Chris. Let's go inside."

When we walked in, we were immediately greeted by around six people we knew. We waved, gave kisses on cheeks, hugged, etc. Somebody asked us what we wanted to drink, and we both shouted, "Beer!" over the loud music.

Two Coronas later, and we were slowly making our way to the back of the house, where there was a game room with a pool table. My heart was palpitating wildly, and I started lightly panting, the heat and the nerves getting to me. Though the music was ferocious, all I could hear was my own breathing, my own nervous heart.

"Hey Taylor, what's up?" Jason greeted me from my left. We shook left paws, and he pulled me into a semi-awkward one-armed hug, patting me on the back. Being so close to him physically shocked the crap out of me, and I barely had time to indulge myself in his masculine heat and warm, pleasantly musky smell before he was at arm's length again. He seemed slightly inebriated, which worked well for the plan. "Hey...Christa, right?" he added.

"Yeah, that's right!" she said loudly. "Hi!"

"Hey," I said simply. "So uh, how's the party so far? Anything we missed?"

"What? I can't really hear you," he responded, tapping one of the perfectly pointed ears I so adored.

"Never mind!" I shouted over the music. The bass was deafening.

"Pretty good party!" he said, smiling broadly. God, that SMILE! I shivered a little. I felt a lot less nervous now that I was around him. "Some of your classmates from Econ are here! I don't know where they went, but they're here!"

"Oh yeah? That's cool," I said, uninterested. I really didn't want to say, 'Are you stalking me?' I prolonged that moment by setting my beer down on a bookshelf next to me and said, "Hey, can you guys watch my drink? I'm gonna go potty."

"Sure!" Christa and Jason said together.

I meandered through the crowd of drunken people, one beefy tiger guy who I would have lost my mind over normally almost spilling a beer on me, some fox boy elbowing me and apologizing profusely, a coyote girl ramming into me as she came out of the bathroom. Lord, sometimes parties are just not worth it, I thought.

I unzipped my pants and helped my semi-soft cock out of my underwear, pointing it down at the toilet and sighing as the flow began. God help me with this insane task, I thought. I felt like I ran out of pee way too fast, and I zipped up, frowning. I washed my paws, hygienic as ever, and eased my way back into the fray, shouldering my way through the crowd. Thankfully, I was tall enough to see over most of them, and I let my gaze linger on beefy tiger man, who was now shirtless with a backwards cap on. Urgh, pin me to the floor, I thought. Then I imagined Jason pinning me to the floor, and I figured it best not to think about anything along those lines anymore.

"Welcome back," Jason greeted. He grabbed my drink for me and pawed it to me, smiling. "It didn't move an inch."

"Good to know," I thought, taking a swig. I could always count on beer to ease the nerves.

"So a couple people from class passed by, but I've only ever seen their faces. Don't even know their names, and they didn't say hi," Christa said loudly over the music.

"Whatever, there's like a thousand people in that class," I responded, shrugging. "Did I miss anything?" I asked, smiling.

"Actually, we were just talking about you," Jason said slyly, as if whatever they had said wasn't in the best of taste.

"Oh please, we were not!" Christa laughed, amused by the look on my face. I suppose I must've looked a mix of angry, surprised, offended, amused and flattered. "We were talking about Sarah and Lindsay, and how they did a good job with the party and the house." Sarah and Lindsay were two of the four friends who lived at the house.

Just then, the people playing pool decided to give it up, and I said, "Hey, the table's open! You want to play?" I felt really happy to finally be able to have a good time, even if I had to confront Jason about the letters.

"Yeah, sure," he answered, grinning. "I gotta warn you, I suck!"

"All the better for me!" I laughed. I sauntered over to the table, and out of nowhere, I stumbled a little, literally over nothing.

"Are you okay?" Jason asked, placing his paw on my upper back tentatively. It was so big and warm...I flushed beneath my fur, embarrassed.

"Please!" I laughed, "I'm just a klutz, that's all. Let's rack 'em up!"

I grabbed a few cues and pawed one each to Christa, who looked a little disapproving at my not immediately confronting Jason, and to Jason himself, once he'd racked up all the balls.

"How about you two against me?" I suggested.

"Oh, so this is just another one of your talents, is it?" Jason asked.

"You'll see," Christa laughed a little. She was pretty stiff, but at least participating convincingly.

"I'll break," I said, taking a long drink from my beer. I walked to the end of the table, feeling my tail brush Jason's leg, and lined up my shot, leaning into the table. CRACK! And two stripes went in. "Guess I'm stripes," I chuckled. Jason looked mildly impressed as I moved around the table, knocking two more in before I missed.

"Thank God there's not money on this," Jason said, lining up his own shot. I was standing off to his right, and as he bent over, I thought, Damn, that's a fine ass. Then I shook my head, remembering my purpose. He's a stalker, and I'm going to out him tonight.

CRACK! The cue ball rolled right past the ball he was aiming for, and straight down the upper right-paw pocket.

"SCRATCH!" I hooted.

"Aw, shut up, I told you I suck," Jason laughed, and gave his most debonair smile, which was saying a lot. My knees buckled. His brown eyes said, 'There are so many things I'm better at than this.' I had the feeling my green eyes were saying, 'What the fuck is going on?'

We kept playing, and eventually I let them both take turns before I'd shoot. I intentionally missed a couple times also, just to give them a fighting chance. But, after another twenty minutes and another round of beers, I still ended up winning, and they still had two balls on the table.

"How'd you get so good at this game?" Jason asked, pushing my shoulder a little. "That wasn't even fair with the two of us against you!"

"Yeah, well, I've been to a lot of parties, and I'm kind of a lightweight, so I don't like to overdo it on the alcohol. So, if I ever got tired of dancing or whatever, this is what I'd do." I smiled at him. Just as my lips curled, however, I felt just a little dizzy, and I kind of swooned physically, my body slumping against him briefly.

"Are you all right? You've only had a couple beers!" Jason laughed.

He's so good-natured, I thought. I don't know how he could be a stalker.

"So Jason," I said, ignoring his comment, "what is it you're into? I mean, like, uh, what do you like to do with your time?"

"Well, like I mentioned on Wednesday, I like to write short stories and things, I love movies, and I have a thing for going out to dinner, which costs me a fortune. I like music a lot, love going to see shows. And, I know it sounds lame, but I like being a homebody sometimes, too," he said, still wearing his pretty smile. I noticed that lately it rarely left his face.

"Oh, so you're a writer, are you?" I asked. God, why is my head so loopy? I already know he writes! Two beers! Am I getting even lighter-weight? And was I slurring just now?

"Uh, yeah...you know, casually speaking...but you know that..." he replied apprehensively, looking in my eyes.

"So uh, does zat mean you like to write...like uh, letters and stuff, too?" I asked bluntly. My mind was getting so fuzzy, I felt like I couldn't think right. My body felt pretty relaxed, though. Warm, relaxed, not a care in the world...

"Letters? Like...like to a pen pal or something? Or emails? What do you mean?" he asked confusedly, his ears beginning to fall, his brow pulling up in the center. Worry was creeping over his face.

"Like creepy psycho love letters in...in red envelopes!" I asked. Why am I asking him like this? Why am I just blurting these things out?

Christa, who had gone off to get herself another drink, returned at that moment, looking a little more relaxed than she had been.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Taylor," Jason said softly, real worry creasing his brow.

He looks so pretty and sad, I thought.

"Oh whatever, you totally do! You're supposed to be like...like obsessed wif me righ'?" I asked, my words slurring worse than ever. I was losing my grip, I could feel it. I was falling fast.

"Obsessed?" he asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Taylor, stop being weird," Christa said with a nervous laugh, trying to pass it off like I was making some kind of joke.

"But I'm not being weird, he totally like fucking loves me and stuff, and writes me really scary letters...and...and...and he smiles at me pretty and smells nice..." I rambled, slumping against Jason again. I had already been swaying, but now I could barely stay on my feet.

"Oh God, something's wrong with him!" Christa said.

"Taylor, are you all right? What's going on with you?" Jason asked, hefting me up. My head was lolling around, so he took my chin in his paw and turned me to face him, staring at me, looking terrified.

I just looked at him for a minute, his beautiful white fur gleaming in the dim lights, his black nose shining, mouth soft and inviting...

And I slumped forward and kissed him full on the mouth, being kind of sloppy about it. For a moment he didn't resist, but then he pulled back abruptly, getting more and more in a panic by the moment.

"Taylor!" Christa reprimanded. "Don't kiss that stalker! What's wrong with you?"

"Whaddya mean whass wrong? He's cute...I don feel so good..." I mumbled, my eyes rolling. "I feel sleepy..."

And then nothing. Nothing at all.

My first sense to return was my sense of hearing. I felt like I was waking from a long, dreamless sleep, and I had to wake in stages. Sounds were hitting my ears. Soft beeps. A low hum. Mumbling, talking, the calling of a name or the click of a pen.

My voice came back next, but barely. "Hmm?" was all I got out of myself, and my eyelids cracked open like they had been sealed shut for centuries.

"Taylor! You're awake!" Christa's voice said around me. My eyes peeled open slowly, and the lights blinded me. Everything seemed to be white. "God, I was worried..." she said.

"W..." I managed. I swallowed, which felt as though my throat were full of sand, and smacked my dry lips. "What happened?" My voice sounded foreign, hollow. My head felt thick and heavy.

"You...you were drugged, Tay," Christa explained, her voice shaking. "That fucker date-rape drugged you right in front of me! What the FUCK IS THAT!" she exploded with rage, clearly having been waiting to express it until the period of worry was over.

"What?" I asked, sitting up a bit. Her loud voice was harsh on my sensitive ears, and my sense of self was still awkward at best. But the shock of being drugged helped me to awaken, to focus. I was in a hospital bed, Christa's svelte form in a chair next to me, still wearing her outfit from the party, her mascara smudged everywhere, her eyes red. I had an IV in, which twinged.

"Tay, I brought you to the hospital as fast as I could...after I dragged you away from him..." Christa explained, her voice cracking. She was an emotional wreck. She was obviously feeling guilty for something, as well as angry, frightened, and confused.

"Christa...are you sure?" I asked, unable to believe it still. My voice sounded raspy. Grating. Tired.

"Of course I'm fucking sure!" she lashed out, glaring at me. "The doctors told me that they found Rohypnol in your blood, and the only time you didn't have your drink right next to you was when you went to the bathroom. That scumbag and I were the only ones near it the whole time you were gone!" She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She was trying not to get too upset. It was clear she didn't want to cry again tonight. Or was it even night still?

"So...the last thing I remember is...I kissed him, right? Oh God..." I felt sick to my stomach, nauseated by the idea of kissing someone so vile. "And then...then..."

"God, you should have seen yourself," Christa said, venom dripping from her tongue by the gallon. "You were so helpless, and you could barely stand or say anything on your own. You said silly things like how cute Jason was and how you didn't mind that he was obsessed with you, and all sorts of random things. To think, if I hadn't been with you tonight..." she mumbled, and her voice broke. She was crying again. But I kept pressing her for information anyway. I had to know.

"But, how did you get me away? What'd you do?" I asked.

"When you kissed him I called him a stalker, and he put two and two together, what with your letter comments. He realized we figured out his sick game, so he immediately tried denying it, saying he'd never do anything to hurt you, blah blah. Piece of shit. Then he reached for you, as if to grab your arm, and I fucking lost it..." she had sniffed away her very short crying spell, the anger taking over. "I clawed him right across the face, and told him if he touched you, I'd kill him myself. I told him I was going to get a restraining order on his ass, and I'd get him expelled as soon as I was able. Told him I'd go to the cops, too. I would have ripped that fucker a new asshole right there if I wasn't so worried about getting you out of there safely..." she sighed, at a loss. After telling me this story, her emotions were finally waning, and she could think a little clearer.

"What...what did he say, when you told him all this?" I asked softly. I knew that it would bother her to no end that I wasn't supportive of her protecting me, that I wasn't agreeing with her actions. But, I thought, there's no true proof that he even drugged me. The thought of him makes me ill, and it makes sense that Christa had her eye on him the whole night, but if she was already pretty cautious with him, how'd he slip that pill past her eye? The night was just a blur for me.

"He said that I could..." she paused. She was glaring at me again. She was unsure of whether or not she wanted to tell me.

"That you could what, Chris?" I pushed. I wanted to know.

She sighed. Her sigh told me she didn't care if he'd said he'd give me a billion dollars to keep quiet or that he'd kill himself right there. It didn't matter to her. Finally, she took a slow, deep breath, and said, "He said I could lock him up and throw away the key myself, if only I'd let him carry you to a hospital."

There was silence between us for a short while. She was apparently done talking in general, while I was just beginning to think of what to say. That one sentence, that one expression of caring, of worry...it touched me. While I'd always had love from my family, I'd always had a hard time making friends, Christa being one of the few. Not friends like party friends. Real friends. Friends who'd be around forever. So the fact that Jason was so willing to do anything just to help me, to carry me to safety...even if it was a lie, it made me feel loved.

"I just feel like some of this doesn't add up," I said slowly, breaking the silence.

"What doesn't add up? He drugged you, I saved you." Stubborn, as usual.

"Just think about it, Chris. I mean REALLY think about it, don't just shrug off what I say because you hate him right now. Why would he drug me when he KNEW that I was coming to the party with you?" I asked somewhat rhetorically, expecting her to jump to reply, which she did.

"Because he's insane, so obsessed he doesn't care who's around," she said.

"That may be so, but does he seem crazy to you?" I countered.

"Totally! He's a psy-"

"Okay, just let me finish before you rant again," I cut her off. She glowered again, fuming. "He KNEW you were coming with me, and he still drugged me? Doesn't make sense. He drugged me with you watching him? Doesn't make sense. He offered to take me to a hospital? Doesn't make sense. Not to mention I remember a little of him asking me what was wrong, of him being...well, worried about me." I paused, and she snarled slightly.

"God, you LIKE him! You're questioning the psycho's logic so much because you LIKE him! Every time you talk about him you get that disgusting look on your face, it makes me sick!" She yelled, her face stuck in a grimace. "What, do you get off on this kind of shit? Being stalked, being drugged? Should I have just let him rape and murder you?" She was furious, and I could tell not even half of it was directed at me or at Jason.

"Christa," I said, ignoring her comments. She knew very well that no one in his or her right mind liked being stalked and drugged. "It's not your fault that my drink got drugged."

"OF COURSE IT'S MY FAULT!" she wailed, the tears coming back to her eyes. "If I had been watching him closer, keeping an eye on you better, looking out for my BEST FRIEND, none of this bullshit would have happened!" She was crying again.

"Come here," I offered my arms as I beckoned her to me. She obeyed, climbing onto my hospital bed and into my embrace, crying on my chest. "Shhh..." I cooed, "It isn't your fault. Anyone could have missed something like that, it was a split second. I should have taken my beer with me, anyway. Don't beat yourself up for something someone else did to me."

She didn't respond. We just lied together for a while, saying nothing, she in my arms.

The doctor later told me what Christa already had: that I'd been roofied, and that I needed to be more careful. He said the drug didn't do any damage, that it just caused extremely unfocused, uninhibited behavior, and that I likely wouldn't remember a thing. He also said that I was lucky to have my friend there with me, with which I agreed, and he advised me not to take any more of these kinds of risks.

I went home from the hospital around seven o'clock in the morning, Christa insisting on me staying with her in her apartment until the stalker matter was resolved. I asked if her roommate would be so hospitable, and she gave me some choice swear words for her roommate.

We went to my apartment, which felt cold and sad, and we gathered some clothes and personal items I would need. I didn't even protest; I couldn't imagine staying alone at a time like this. On our way out of my complex, I checked the mailbox, relieved to see no glaring red envelope, only bills and junk. I audibly sighed.

When we got to Christa's apartment, her roommate Tara was sitting in the living room watching TV. Tara was some emo/punk/gothic combination, a lop-eared tan rabbit with tons of piercings, an inordinate amount of black-and-multicolored hair, and an affinity for black clothes. When she saw me come in with bags, she gave a "tch," sound, rolling her eyes.

"He's staying here for a little while, in my room. If you've got a problem, fuck off." Christa didn't like her roommate very much, and it certainly showed. I wasn't fond of Tara, but I didn't hate her. I waved tiredly, trying to smile. She just ignored me.

"Herbivores," Christa commented annoyedly once we got in her room.

"What, you don't eat vegetables?" I joked. There had always been an odd dichotomy between self-labeled 'herbivores' and 'carnivores,' disregarding the fact that all of our species had evolved out of those base food preferences. Sometimes, this left half-breeds in some weird parallel existence, like an acquaintance named Clara from high school who was half puma, half lemur. I had never really bought into it, and I think that Christa only did to have another excuse to dislike Tara.

"I think I have an air mattress here somewhere..." she said, digging into her closet. I let her do her thing, knowing she wouldn't rest until she made me absolutely comfortable. What would have made me happiest was still feeling safe in my own home.

That Saturday, the hours passed without my notice. I tried keeping my mind occupied by reading, watching TV, doing anything that required my attention. Regardless, I still thought about Jason. The thought of him made me sick in so many ways; it was as though I had butterflies and molten tar rolling around in my stomach. On the one paw, he made me feel nervous, and when I thought about kissing him, excited. On the other, the notion that he was capable of slipping me pills and intending to rape me was revolting. I shuddered when I got too in-depth with thoughts of him.

I dreaded when I'd have to face him again.

Wednesday was a horrifying concept that came ridiculously quickly. Though I spent most of my time at Christa's apartment-to Tara's annoyance, who was a homebody herself, I could barely motivate myself to do any homework. I was still shaken, distracted, and above all, frightened. When I awoke to Christa's alarm early Wednesday morning (of course, assuming that I got any sleep at all), I was more than frightened. I was absolutely petrified.

"Just stay here, who cares if we miss lecture?" Christa offered. "Who needs to see that douchebag anyway?" She hadn't gone through with any of her threats against Jason yet at my request. I told her that though I was just as angry and scared as she was regarding my being drugged, we still had no definitive proof that Jason was the stalker, despite how obvious it was becoming. We couldn't go to the authorities or anyone else until we could prove our allegations were true. Of course, the doctor had advised me to see the police also, but agreed not to contact them, against his better judgment.

"Look, I need to go," I replied, determined, but losing my will all the while. Fear was eating away at that determination, forcing me to reconsider. No, I thought, I HAVE to go to that class. I have to see him. I have to see how he reacts when I confront him with the letters for real.

"I know, I know...just remember, if you need me to slice and dice him, I'll be ready," she said, her razor-sharp claws poking out of the black fur on her tense paws.

"I'll take that under consideration," I said, not a hint of a joke in my voice. Christa had given me pepper spray, also, which I intended to use at a moment's notice. Or, I'd bite him if I had to. Whatever worked.

We walked to class cautiously, looking over our shoulders and around the corners of buildings and every which way. We were determined not to be caught off guard, and as we arrived at the lecture hall, it seemed we hadn't. Jason wasn't in sight anywhere.

When we took our seats, we didn't see him at his usual table off to the side of the hall, either. We waited, looking at every entrance, me dreading the moment he appeared at the door, but he didn't. Class began, and he still wasn't there.

About fifteen minutes into Professor Chasm's latest bore-fest, the doors behind us opened creakily, and as I swung my head around on my shoulders, a snowy white figure in trendy clothes slipped in.

Jason hurried down the stairs toward the center of the hall where Professor Chasm stood. His entrance did not go unnoticed by anyone, most especially Professor Chasm.

"Jason, how kind of you to come," the professor said irritatedly. "Hopefully if the students need reference this lecture, they won't mind missing the first quarter of an hour's material."

"I apologize, Professor Chasm, I...got held up..." he said lamely, hurrying to his table. He set up his laptop quickly, only having eyes for its screen.

"Yes, well see that you don't get so 'caught up' next week," Chasm commented pompously, then continued to drone as if someone were listening.

Look at me, I thought, staring at Jason, the urge to vomit and the urge to scream battling each other within me. Look me in the fucking eye.

But he didn't. His beautiful, sad face was forlorn and befuddled, as if he were on the verge of tears constantly. There were huge gashes across his left cheek, courtesy of Christa I presumed, and they only added to the distressed, beaten look he had about him. His eyes looked tired, like he hadn't slept in a week, and his mouth was slack and frowning.

He looked up at me, and I jumped. People sitting near me shifted in their seats, looking at me reproachfully, as if I had woken them from dreaming. He stared in my direction, no longer typing. He looked as if he'd like nothing more than to jump up and talk to me, to yell over Professor Chasm if he had to. Was he really a stalker, a freak? He's just a good actor, I thought. Too good. Too seductive.

He was pleading with me with his eyes, but after a moment, I merely glared, turning down to my desk, not wanting to look anywhere or at anyone. I could sense that Christa was staring Jason down, though I knew he wouldn't look at her. He wanted me or no one.

The lecture was over faster than any other had been. To me, the boring droning of Chasm's voice was going at a frenetic pace, counting down the minutes until the confrontation.

That time came much too soon for my liking. I had a headache, a stomachache, a life-ache. Crying seemed an option, as still did screaming and barfing. Finally, I urged myself out of my seat, Christa pinching my arm to prod me up.

We swept up the stairs quickly and waited at the front of the building for Jason to come out. Compared to the lecture, these couple of minutes felt like hours. Just let this be over with, I thought.

Finally, last to leave was Jason, still sad and sweet looking, like he needed to be cuddled or something, which left me speechless and infuriated. To my surprise, he came right toward me, rather than trying to sneak away. My mouth opened to start accusing him, but he pressed his finger to my lips, silencing me. Honestly, I was glad for the interruption; if I would have tried to say, 'You're a stalker!' I probably would have said, 'You're a BLEEAAARGH!' and he'd be wiping the puke off for days.

"Taylor, I don't know what happened to you Friday night." He paused and stared into my eyes, his own warm, brown, and to my judgment, honest. "I swear, I didn't do anything weird, and when you got...when you got sick, I wanted to help you, I wanted to take you to the hospital. I would never, ever do anything to hurt you," he said to me, and I believed him. I felt gullible, I felt like a complete sucker. But I really did feel like he was telling the truth.

"Then what the fuck are THESE!" Christa exclaimed, reaching into my bag and pulling out the letters. She threw them at him in a rage, and he caught them against his chest, confused. He's cute when he's confused, I thought, then mentally gagged myself with a spoon.

He read through both letters quickly, and a horrified expression came over his face. "I have no idea! I would never write something like this! Have you gone to the police or something? This shit is freaky!"

"Oh please, you're a terrible actor. We know you wrote them, we know you drugged Taylor. Just keep your sicko paws away from my friend before I have your fucking ass arrested," Christa hissed, trying to pull me away. "Let's go, Taylor."

"Wait!" Jason yelped, reaching out and grabbing my wrist. Christa looked like she was about to have a stroke, and was threatening with her claws.

"Chris, calm down," I said, though my own voice was shaking. "Could you please let me go before she has an aneurism?" I asked, looking at Jason. He complied, though hesitantly.

"What can I do to convince you that I didn't do this?" he said. "How can I prove my innocence?" He looked desperate, unnerved, and it saddened me to think that I caused him so much grief.

"There's nothing you can say, stalker!" Christa snarled.

"Well," I corrected, swallowing sand like at the hospital, "you could write something for us..."

He was reaching in his bag for a pen before the protest could escape Christa's lips.

"Oh please, Tay, he could just change his pawwriting!" she argued.

"Look!" Jason said, pulling out a bunch of papers and a pen. "Look at all of this work I've done. THAT is my pawwriting," he said, pointing to the papers. I leaned in to look at them, and there was an elegant, slanted script all over, very neat and very unlike the untidy scrawl that littered the pages of the letters. "Watch!" He clicked the pen, and in the margin of a piece of paper, he wrote, "I am Jason Evan Pierce, and I am innocent!" in that same script. The way his left paw swept the page with elongated strokes of ink was lovely.

"Like I said, as if that proves anything," Christa spat.

I wanted to believe Jason, I really did. I was dying to just say, 'Sorry, you're right Jason, it isn't you. Want to grab a coffee?' But I couldn't. I just couldn't be sure it wasn't him, I had to have definitive evidence.

"I'm sorry, Jason," I said softly, "but I have to agree with Christa. Just please...stay away from me." I gave him one last sad look, which he returned, his mouth open, as if to protest. He looked shocked, sad, and hurt.

"Oh...okay, Taylor..." was all he said. With that, he turned and said, "I'm sorry," and took off at a run, still clutching the letters to his heart.

"God, I hope he slips up and outs himself, because I'll be there with the cops so fucking fast," Christa spat, glaring in his direction.

I felt my heart breaking a little. Jason was such a sweet, warm, friendly guy. He didn't deserve this. All my instincts were telling me to run after him, apologize, and ask him on a real date, but I just couldn't. 'I just stood there, my heart pounding. I couldn't move, all I could do was stare.' Suddenly those words from a song seemed so significant, but in such a different context.

I felt myself walking away with Christa, my panther friend still spurting slurs against my potential stalker. I felt us begin in the direction of her apartment, and I stopped. She looked at me curiously.

"I want to check my mail," I said simply. Christa looked at me skeptically, as if she was thinking that something like the mail could wait until later. "We held Jason up after class, right? And he ran in the total opposite direction of my apartment. If there's a letter in the mailbox, especially if it says anything about today, then he can't be the stalker, can he? I mean, there's no way he'd get there and be gone by the time we got there..." I rambled a little, trying to find a way to help Jason's case.

"Tay, what if he's there, and he goes crazy on you for telling him to stay away? It doesn't sound safe to me," she argued.

"Look, Christa, I just need to check. Hurry!" I said, and I was off, running. My apartment was only a couple blocks away from campus, and I was determined to get there. My heart was telling me to prove Jason's innocence now, though I'd never mention it to Christa. She was right. I was really starting to like him a lot.

She caught up to me, glaring at me as she ran by my side, but silent. She knew my stubborn spirit, that I'd never turn around now, so she just accepted it, our bags bouncing along with us.

We got to my place in record time, the whole while looking everywhere, searching for some sign of Jason having been there. I didn't see his ghostly fur anywhere, about which I was relieved. When I got to my mailbox, my paw was quivering as I inserted the key, secretly annoyed that our mailboxes had slots on them to allow anyone to put mail into them. When the door opened, all that was there was the glaring red letter.

I pulled it from the box and stared at my name written in the untidy scrawl. I just gazed at the letter for what felt like hours, Christa and I catching our breath together, when something clicked.

"Chris, Jason couldn't have written this letter," I huffed, sweat beading beneath my fur to cool me.

"How is that?" she asked, pissy about the whole topic.

"The writing...it's not smeared," I said, relief in my voice. I knew Jason couldn't have done it. "Look at my name! Chris, he's LEFT-PAWED. When he writes, his paw drags across what he's just written, and smears it a little!"

She stared at the letter, then said logically, "What if he just wrote it with his right? I mean, it's a lot sloppier than the writing he showed us."

"Can you write with your left?" I asked angrily. "Because when I do, it looks like a two-year-old did it!"

"Just open the damn thing and read it before you go saying your little stalker boyfriend is innocent, all right?" she argued viciously.

"Fine!" I hissed back, tearing open the letter. It was longer than the last two.

Taylor,

I want you to be mine so badly. I'm sorry I had to drug you, but it couldn't be helped. I know that you're just very excitable, so I wanted to help you be in a more receptive mood. I'm sorry I did it, but more sorry that that bitch pulled you away from me before we could be alone together. She won't be in the way again.

I felt like I was going to vomit. Again, the letter was pointing all arrows at Jason.

I should have waited for a time when you weren't with your friends, but I just wanted you so badly. I'd do anything to have you, anything.

When I saw you at the gym this week, swimming back and forth, you looked so amazing, so incredible. I wanted to take you right there, to make you mine, to fill you up with me and make you feel me. I saw you showering after, and your naked body got me so excited. You're so fucking beautiful, so sexy, so amazing, I touched myself for hours just thinking about you naked, imagining being inside you...

At that point, I started gagging. Christa looked at me concernedly, but I just turned and ran outside the lobby doors, bending over and puking into the shrubs outside. I had only had coffee and a granola bar for breakfast, and reading something that disturbing was more than my stomach could stand.

I coughed a couple times, my eyes tearing, and I wiped my mouth on my arm, walking back inside. Christa looked really worried, and she hugged me.

"Hold on," I said, and she let go. I had to finish reading what the stalker, this psycho, had written.

I'm going to make you mine, Taylor. You've never noticed me, never cared, until now. You've seen me, you've talked to me, and now, you'll want me as much as I want you. I'm going to love you forever.

No signature, as usual.

Tears were streaming down my face now, but before Christa could ask, I shoved the letter at her, willing myself not to start heaving again. I had to sit down on one of the bench seats, my head in my paws, still crying, still breathing hard.

Christa was finished with the letter in moments, but it took her a while to say anything. "This is just...it's so sick..." she said, clutching the stationery very tightly, as if she were going to crumple it.

I didn't say anything. I didn't even look up. Whoever was stalking me, and it again appeared to be Jason, was getting bolder. He-Or she, I thought, though I instinctively knew the freak was male-was spying on me more, getting closer, writing more and more personal things. He was getting closer to his goal. He was getting closer to me.

"We have to take this to the police, there's no way around it now," she said. "This is some fucked up shit, and we need help." Her voice was shaking with emotion, and as she came and sat next to me, I cringed a little, scared of contact with anyone.

"Okay," I said after a time, relaxing again. She put her arm around me, which felt good, and she hugged me to her. I let her, sighing.

Twenty minutes and a few more tears and hugs later, and we were up and out of my apartment complex. We had decided that campus police weren't what we wanted; we needed to get to the police station, which was a few miles away. Thankfully, Christa called a cab for us.

On the ride to the station, the cabbie asked us if we were all right; I guess it wasn't often that he was asked to drive someone to the police station. Christa hastily answered that we were fine, and it was silence the rest of the way, much to my relief. I didn't know what to do with myself, and if I had been forced to speak, I wasn't sure how I might've reacted.

When we got to the police station, Christa assured me that she'd do all the talking if she could manage it. I nodded, sighing. I really didn't want for it to have to get to this level, but the letter that Christa was clutching had convinced me that this problem was quickly getting out of control.

We walked up to the reception desk, where an officer sat, working at a computer. He looked up as we approached, and said, "How can I help you?" He was behind bullet-proof glass, so it was a little hard to hear.

"We need to report a potential crime," Christa said succinctly.

"What do you mean by 'potential,' exactly?" the officer asked. He was a kindly-looking bobcat with a full beard and a twinkle in his blue eyes. He looked more like Santa Claus than a police officer to me.

"Well, my friend here, Taylor Dawson," she said, gesturing toward me, "has been receiving some extremely frightening and threatening letters from what appears to be a full-blown stalker." At this point, she presented the letter and torn blood red envelope, which she slipped through the slot in the glass. I blushed in shame and sickness; there were words in there about me naked, about someone jacking off to thoughts of me. It made me feel as though I'd been mentally raped.

"Ah, I see...you must be the boy that that other young man was talking about earlier when he brought a couple letters like this," the officer, whose nametag said 'Bradsbury,' said to me, a look of pity on his face.

I returned it with a look of surprise. "I'm sorry?" I said. "Someone came and brought letters like these in?"

"Well, yes, he's talking to a detective regarding this alleged stalking," he said simply, as though it were obvious. "He came in saying he wanted to help, and that he also wanted to prove that it wasn't him who wrote the letters. Why don't we get you to talk to Detective Morris with him?"

"Yes, if we could, please," I said quickly.

The officer came around to the door to our left, coming out to greet us. He gave us both a quick search, patting us down to ensure we didn't have any weapons, then brought us back into the station, where officers, secretaries, suspected criminals, and other people were all busy and moving. We passed down a short hallway toward the back of the building, and Officer Bradsbury knocked on an office door. A resounding female voice commanded, "Come in," and the three of us entered a small, yet immaculately kept office, where a lioness with short blonde hair and glasses sat across the desk from a snowy white wolf with gashes on his cheek.

Seeing Jason at that moment was nearly more than I could stand. My breath caught in my chest, and my heart pounded wildly, a mixture of fear and nervousness, of apology and fright. I wanted to tell him that I knew that it wasn't him, but I stayed silent, waiting for others to speak.

"Taylor!" Jason said, standing up. Officer Bradsbury, thankfully, was between us, and blocked his way.

"Detective Morris, this is Taylor Dawson, the young man who is the victim of the alleged stalking. They brought a third letter," he said, holding up the letter, then leaning forward and pawing it to her, "and they suspect that there is potential for a crime to be committed."

"Thank you, Officer Bradsbury," she replied authoritatively, as if just by saying 'thank you,' she was also saying, 'You may go now.'

He left without another word, and Jason, Christa and I were left standing and staring at each other, Jason looking desperately at me, Christa glaring at Jason, and me gazing into Jason's eyes, their warm brown depths luring me, lulling me, liking me.

"Please, all of you, have a seat," Morris ordered-or at least, it sounded like she was used to having what she requested obeyed. The three of us sat, Jason and I opposite her, Christa behind us in a chair near the door. Apparently, though she didn't trust Jason as far as she could throw him, she felt a lot better that he had come to the police himself, and that the person on the other side of the desk had a gun. "Now," Morris said, "Mr. Pierce here has been relating to me for a while now how you, Mr. Dawson, have been receiving these letters from an alleged stalker, and that you suspect that that stalker is him. Is this correct?"

I stared at her for a moment, silent. Then, I said, "As of this morning, that was correct. I have reason to believe that I was mistaken." I could feel Christa's eyes on the back of my head telling me not to discount Jason as a suspect quite yet. I didn't care; I didn't want him to have to suffer through this anymore.

"Mistaken? About being stalked or about Mr. Pierce being the stalker?" she asked pointedly.

"The latter," I answered simply, slowly. My mind was trying to use few words. "Jason offered to me a sample of his pawwriting this morning, and though I still suspected him at the time, I realized by looking at this new letter that I've received that the author is likely right-pawed, and I know Jason to be left." I sighed, feeling exhausted. Jason was looking at me, but I was trying to stay focused on Detective Morris.

"What led you to that conclusion?" she asked. She definitely didn't beat around the bush. She was still holding the third letter, but she hadn't read it yet.

"Well, when Jason showed us his writing, I noticed the ink smears because his paw rubs over it as he writes. The ink isn't smeared on any of these letters. Plus the pawwriting doesn't match." Every word was a strain.

"Have you considered that whoever wrote these might be ambidextrous-that is to say, that they have equal use of both paws?" she asked. Every time there was a pause when one of us wasn't speaking, the silence was louder than a foghorn.

"I have considered that that might be a possibility, but an unlikely one," I replied.

"I'd like you to relate to me what has been happening with these letters in the last few weeks," she said, looking down at the third letter. Her eyes scanned over it, and there was a moment of silence as she read it. When she finished, she looked up, and there was an emotion I didn't quite expect on her seemingly unchanging solemn face. It was pity.

And so I told her. I explained to her the day I'd gotten the first letter, how I'd been creeped out, how I'd concluded that it was Jason who was obsessed with me. Then I told her about the second letter, about how it had seemed even more likely that it was Jason, that I had planned on seeing Jason for coffee and getting a sample of his writing. She chided that that decision had been dangerous even with witnesses, but I continued on. I told her about the party, about going off to the bathroom and being drugged, about waking up in the hospital, about Christa saving me. Christa interjected here, mentioning what had happened in my unconscious state; Jason offered nothing, for I was sure that he'd already told his side of this story. I continued by talking about moving in with Christa, which Detective Morris agreed with, then how I confronted Jason about the letters, and finally, about just over an hour previous, when I'd found the horrifying third letter in the box, concluding that it couldn't have been Jason who'd been sending them. I felt so numb. Weak. Humiliated and defiled.

"Well," Morris said, arranging the letters in what looked to be chronological order, "I doubt we'll get a whole lot of evidence from these, but I'll send them to the lab and see if they can come up with anything." She set them aside. "You certainly did the right thing by coming here today, Mr. Dawson. If you hadn't...well, you did. So, I'd like to inform you that Mr. Pierce here has consented to a polygraph test to prove his innocence, as well as to provide a DNA sample, just in case there's any DNA evidence to be found and we need to rule him out."

For the first time since I came into the room, I turned and looked at Jason. He was already looking at me, and there was the slightest hint of a smile on his face, as if to say, 'I'd do anything for you.'

"I've had a tech collect a cheek swab already," she said, "and lucky for you, Mr. Pierce, our polygraph technician is in today, and I wouldn't doubt that he has time to perform a test."

"I appreciate it immensely," Jason said, his voice cracking slightly. Anyone in the room could tell that he was very emotional about this entire issue, and I especially felt bad for him. I knew in my heart that he wasn't the stalker, I could just tell somehow.

Detective Morris explained, "Yes, well, if I may say so, Mr. Dawson, while I fully condone Mr. Pierce taking the test, it's unlikely that someone this willing to cooperate is your stalker. From my experience with stalkers, they're not the type to cooperate with police; they tend to see themselves as completely justified in what they're doing, as if stalking is just another form of courtship or love. If they are confronted about what they're doing, many times they outright confess, as if things like these," she gestured to the letters absently with one paw without looking at them, as if they shouldn't be allowed eye contact, "are cute love notes."

"Disgusting," Christa hissed behind me.

"Very," Morris agreed solemnly. "Stalkers have low to no self-esteem, and yet they're narcissists; they think that the world revolves around them, that you belong to them. Whoever wrote these letters is mentally ill, that much is clear." She sighed, as if the whole prospect of investigating the stalking was draining her. "Do you have any idea who this person might be?"

"Well," I said softly, trying to think. I pondered for a good while, but no one came to mind. "Honestly, no. I mean, it has to be someone in my Econ class, but there's like three hundred people in that class..."

"And you're the Teaching Assistant of that class, are you not, Mr. Pierce?" she asked Jason.

"Yes," he said simply. His voice sounded a little better. I could almost feel relief emanating from him. "Though Taylor is right, there are many people in that class, and the pawwriting didn't stand out to me."

"I imagine this person sits near you every class, and has, by the sound of the letters, been following you elsewhere, such as the gym, apparently. You don't remember seeing anyone suspicious?" she asked.

"No," I replied honestly. "The gym thing was a complete shock. I remember that day, and I didn't see anyone I recognized. In fact, the pool was nearly empty. Could he have been hiding somewhere?"

"I wouldn't doubt it. I would say that until we conclude this investigation, you're not to be alone. Try to continue about your life as usual, because it will lead the stalker into a false sense of security, thinking that you haven't done anything about his advances. These people tend to get reckless eventually, and confess who they are or reveal themselves in some other way. It's unlikely you'll come of any harm while in the presence of others; many times, as I can tell by these letters, the stalker has a sexual or intimate love fantasy about the victim that he or she wants to play out in private." Detective Morris stood, picking up the phone on her desk, and my stomach dropped sickeningly. Sexual fantasies. "I'm going to call Gherity, the polygraph operator, for your test," she said to Jason. "In the mean time, the three of us will be composing an official report, to which you may add your account of these incidents when you return from your test."

"All right," Jason said softly.

I wanted to talk to Jason, to apologize for suspecting him, for telling him to stay away from me. I wanted to tell him how much I really liked him, how I wanted to take him on a date, how I wanted to hold him and kiss him, but I didn't. Now's not the time, I thought. Once he gets his test results, and we file this report, and we leave the station, I'll ask him to come with me somewhere so we can talk.

Jason stood and left the room with Detective Morris moments later, and Christa and I sat in silence. Finally, she spoke.

"I owe Jason an apology," she said slowly, softly, barely more than a whisper. "I treated him awfully."

"Me, too," I said. We weren't facing each other or looking at each other, but I felt an understanding pass through us as it only can between best friends.

The door opened, and Morris reentered alone, seating herself behind her desk.

And so we filed an official report. Christa corroborated my story, I swore that I didn't write the letters myself, nor did I know who did. Going over every detail of the ongoing horrific experience of being stalked was brutal enough the first time we did it; once the report was being composed, it was even more detailed, even more mentally and emotionally straining, until I simply felt exhausted.

"Well, I think we've got all we need-" Morris began, but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. She commanded the knocker to come in, and the door swung open, admitting Jason and a surly-looking older raccoon man. Jason sat beside me once more, and I thought I saw the smallest smile on his face as he looked at me.

"The results? That is, if you, Mr. Pierce, hereby wave your right to privacy in the matter," she said.

"I do," Jason said simply.

"All negative on the RQ," the man I assumed to be Gherity said gruffly. He seemed uninterested in the whole matter. Maybe he was one of those people who reveled in the guilt and pain of others. Clearly, he wasn't getting his fill today.

"What exactly does that mean?" I interjected anxiously.

"RQ are relevant questions. It means Mr. Pierce here passed," Detective Morris explained, and for the first time, I saw a small smile grace her face. It made her infinitely more beautiful.

I sighed in relief, and Jason glanced at me. The look he gave me was one of longing. Longing to talk to me, I figured.

"Thanks, Gherity," Morris said, and Gherity simply nodded and left the room. Yep, he liked drama, and he was clearly disappointed.

"Well, as I expected to say, after you've added your witness statement to this report, you're free to go." Morris looked happy to be able to tell someone that they're innocent, especially someone who she clearly believed was. "Mr. Dawson, Ms. Beauford, you're free to leave."

"Thank you, Detective Morris," I said, standing.

"Don't thank me yet, Mr. Dawson," she replied, suddenly grave. "This investigation has just started. The perpetrator is still out there, so you need to be extra cautious. Unfortunately, I don't have the resources to have you followed everywhere you go until this person's caught. I'm relying on you to contact me if ANYTHING changes. I expect a call every time you get one of these letters, or if you feel like you were being followed, or anything of that sort. I'll also be regularly calling you myself. Also, if this person starts emailing you, or if you start losing control of your credit cards or anything else, I absolutely must know about it IMMEDIATELY. I can't impress upon you how absolutely serious this situation is, and how very real the danger is." She stared into my eyes, and my breath caught in my chest. The moment of relief was over, replaced by the most panic-ridden anxiety I have ever experienced.

My heart was racing like crazy, and I could feel tears in my eyes. I was being overwhelmed. It was easier to handle being stalked when I had someone to pin it on. Now that I was being obsessed over by some unknown psycho, I was terrified.

"Thank you f-f-for the advice, I w-won't be alone, I p-promise," I stuttered. "Excuse me." And I rushed out the door of the office, running back toward the front of the precinct, toward the door. Toward outside, toward fresh air.

My first gulp of the outdoors was refreshing, yet biting. Christa bolted out after me a couple moments later, but by then I was already sitting on a stone bench outside the precinct, hyperventilating.

"Taylor, calm down!" she said, patting and rubbing my back as she sat next to me. It felt good to have a friend so close. "Just take long, slow breaths."

I followed her advice, and I was able to control my breathing, which certainly helped my heart and my head. I was shaking a little, but at least I was able to pull myself together. Barely.

Christa hugged me close, and she whispered to me, "It's going to be okay. This guy's going to slip up, and I'm not going to let you out of my sight. You're going to be okay."

At this point, I was hysterical, but it helped. A little. Very little. "Okay," I said, "okay. Okay. It's going to be okay. I can do this."

"Sweetie," she whined empathetically, feeling the pain in my chest. She grabbed me close, and I could smell her sweet perfume. I sighed, more comforted by that familiar smell than any words she could have said.

We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, until suddenly, the precinct doors opened again, and out strode Jason, followed quickly by Detective Morris.

"Mr. Dawson, are you all right?" she asked me concernedly. "You seemed in a panic when you left the office, and I was worried-"

"I'm all right," I interrupted. "I apologize for worrying you, but I just was feeling a little overwhelmed...I just needed air," I breathed, wiping the tears off my cheeks. "I've just...never really had to deal with something like this before."

"Well, thank God you haven't, and I hope you never have to again," she said sympathetically. "Again, call me if ANYTHING changes, anything you need. I don't care if you think it sounds ridiculous, JUST CALL, okay?"

"I will," I promised. I would call her at midnight if I had to.

"Mr. Pierce, I see myself as an excellent judge of character. Please, help protect this young man until we catch this creep," Morris said to Jason, offering her paw.

He shook it firmly, and said, "I'll protect him with my life."

"I believe you," she replied, and she turned and smiled at me. There was something about her, some gleam in her eye, that made me feel...warm. It was almost like she was happy for me, when I knew she was clearly worried and focused on her job. With that sentiment toward Jason, however, she went back inside the precinct, and I bowed my head and stared at the concrete, ashamed. Jason looked so beautiful in the sunlight, his white fur gleaming. Like an angel.

After a few moments of awkward silence, the three of us determinedly looking away from each other, yet none of us moving, I finally forced my eyes toward Jason's handsome face, and I said brokenly, "Jason."

He looked at me, and there was compassion, pity, and that longing in his warm, chocolate eyes. He smiled just a little, and said, "Yes?"

"Did you mean what you said to Detective Morris?" I asked, standing up very slowly, my knees a little shaky. "That...that you'd protect me with your life?"

"Absolutely," he said, as if it were a silly question, as if the answer were obvious.

We stared at each other for the longest time (likely only a minute at most), and then, I felt as though my body acted instinctively, as if I had no control. I felt myself rush forward, and before I knew it, I was hugging Jason as tightly as I could without suffocating him, my arms wrapped around his chest, my head resting on his shoulder, my slim body pressed to his muscled form. He was warmer and softer than I could have imagined, and he smelled incredible. After a moment of what I imagined was shock, judging by the stiffness of his body, he relaxed and wrapped his arms around me tightly, his large paws gripping onto me, his muzzle buried in my long hair. He inhaled my scent deeply, and he sighed a very soft, comforted sigh, as if my smell made him feel at ease. I guess he felt the same way I did about that kind of thing.

"I am so sorry about what I said to you, I'm so sorry for thinking it was you," I said, not letting go at all.

"Shhh...I don't care at all, I don't care...just let me hold you, let me keep you safe," he replied softly. I had no idea how I could have suspected him. The softness, the warmth of his voice wasn't seducing. It was CARING. And it wasn't obsession, it was real emotion. I could feel it in every part of me, filling me with warmth and strength when I'd never felt weaker and more afraid. It was empowering and wonderful, all at the same time.

And we stood there quietly for a few minutes, just hugging, until finally, we mutually parted, looking at each other with new eyes. "I'm sor-" I started, but he cut me off.

"Shhh..." he said, putting his finger to my lips once more, as he had earlier that day. "I read the letters, I know how it must have seemed. If I were you, I would have thought it was me, too. But I don't care about any of that, all I care about is that you're safe. I really...I really like you, Taylor, a hell of a lot, and I'd lose my shit if something happened to you." He smiled broadly at me, an amazing smile, and I smiled back.

"Did you get that 'lose my shit' thing from a TV show?" I asked quirkily, and he slapped my upper arm. "OW! Okay, okay...Jason, I really like you, too," I replied honestly, finally admitting it to myself and him (and Christa, who was speechless standing behind us). It felt good to have it out in the open, like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had never felt so vulnerable, yet so safe.

"As friends, right? Like you told me at the café?" he asked, his smile getting a little sad, his perfect conical ears drooping slightly. God, those beautiful EARS! What was it about them that I loved so much?

I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take the waves of emotion that went through me every time he had that sad, disappointed look, every time he had that sweet and sulky tone in his voice, every time I had to watch those wonderful ears take a soft and terrible fall. I drew myself up, set with determination to right all of these egregious wrongs, took his face in my paws, and in one swift motion, pulled him into the deepest, warmest, most intimate kiss I could muster, his amazing lips cushions against my own, my muzzle parting his gently, allowing our tongues to meet, my arms wrapping around his neck tightly, my body and his melding as one. It was as if there were nothing in the world but us and this kiss, and I lost myself in it, determined not to find my way back.

He moaned the tiniest moan, like he had been aching for this, and his big paws grabbed my waist firmly, stroking up and down my hips and back, his whole body returning my kiss tenfold. One of my paws ran through his soft hair and over one of his ears, then down the side of his face, his neck, his chest, my claws wanting nothing more than to latch on and never let go. I hadn't known an attraction like this, a feeling like this, ever.

Suddenly, I heard a little noise that brought me crashing back to earth. One little noise, out of the billions that could have occurred at that moment.

Christa cleared her throat again, as if it were her polite way of interjecting.

I pulled myself out of my euphoria and took Jason's face in my paws, looking him straight in the eyes. He looked back at me, and he smiled even more radiantly than I had ever seen him smile. It was as if he wanted to crush my heart with cuteness.

"I have enough friends," I said to him simply.

Before he could laugh, or react in any way, Christa said, "If I may say something!"

"Of course, dear," I replied, releasing my grip on Jason and turning to face her.

"Jason, I...I apologize," she said grumpily, as if it took every effort. I had known her for years, and I know she HATED apologizing for anything. "I'm sorry I suspected you, and I'm sorry for the things I said...and did..." she added, looking at the healing scrapes on Jason's cheek.

"Perfectly all right," he replied happily, as if she'd merely put too much sugar in his coffee.

"Well, actually, it's not," she said guiltily, "but thank you for accepting. I was too quick to judge you. But, I trust you, and I trust Taylor and Detective Morris. I'll leave you two to..." she trailed off, never finishing her sentence. "Please, make sure he gets to my apartment safely. And not too late!" And she turned and walked away briskly before either of us could stop her.

"Bye!" I called after her annoyedly, and she waved one paw without turning to look at me. She's got a lot on her mind, I thought, especially trying to emotionally cope with thinking that Jason was a stalker one minute and now he's...well...are we dating?

"Jason, I...I want to take you on a real date. Would you-"

"God, YES!" he said, and he took me in his arms and kissed me.

Our first date was a short one, just dinner. Jason and I talked animatedly about ourselves. I learned that Jason worked at the local newspaper as a paid intern, and that he was actually majoring in Journalism. He only was a Teaching Assistant because it looked good on his transcript, he said, but he added that he couldn't be happier that he'd become Professor Chasm's. He also told me he came from a large family, with four older brothers and a younger sister. He joked about how his parents were exhausted because their only girl was graduating high school soon, and he worried they'd have nothing to retire on after putting six kids through college. He also related to me that his mother was an engineer and his father wrote music, which is where his love of music stemmed from.

"You know The Instinct?" he had asked me.

"Yeah, they're really good. Wait, he WROTE some of their work?" I remember asking, impressed.

"Well, the band likes to write their own stuff, but they'd heard what he wrote for Billie Cooke, so they asked him to collaborate with them on a few tracks," he had said proudly, not a hint of self-importance in his voice.

"Billie Cooke? I LOVE him! Oh my God, I was like bat shit crazy for him when I was in high school. I can't believe your dad wrote some of his stuff!"

And we went on and on. I, of course, trying not to be entranced by the gaze of his brown eyes, related to him that I was an only child, that I'd had a bit of a pampered upbringing, and that my parents spoiling me had actually done the opposite of what it normally does to kids. Nobody wanted to be my friend in school because they all thought I was an overindulgent rich kid, and they got really jealous when I'd have tons of beautiful clothes and amazing lunches and whatnot. That's where I think I got my first distaste of undeserved preferential treatment. I just wanted to be a normal kid, not a pampered only child.

I recall that Jason had smiled at me at this point, obviously making the connection between what I had thought were undeserved good grades that he had been giving me. He held my paw, our fingers intertwining, and he said, "You deserve to be treated like the amazing, beautiful creature you are."

I remember blushing and reminding him that I wasn't fantastic at taking genuine compliments like that, nor was I very good at doling them out. We changed the subject, and held paws all night.

I don't even remember what restaurant we went to, or what we ate. I just remember being very happy to be with Jason, to not have the secrets and worries of the letters between us anymore. To have him touch me and hold me and kiss me.

Christa's apartment came so fast I think I got whiplash. I didn't want to leave the new safe, warm, amazingly happy feeling I'd come to embrace with Jason's close proximity, and I could tell that he didn't want to leave me alone for a moment. I knew he was protecting me, but after our fourth kiss good night, I knew he was also very...interested in me. In many ways.

I told him good night again, smiling at him, and he kissed the back of my paw.

"I'll be here at eleven to walk you to your afternoon class," he said. "And I'll be waiting when you get out."

"Okay," I replied, giving him a little sweet kiss on the mouth again. "Good night, Jason."

"Good night, Taylor," he said smoothly, deeply, sensually. I secretly wished I were standing at my own door. With that, I turned the doorknob to let myself in, grinning, and he turned and walked away, his fluffy tail wagging behind him friskily.

Urgh, he's so damn fine, I thought, letting myself into Christa's apartment. It was very dark, which was odd. I knew Christa would be waiting up to hear about what happened. Huh, I thought. Maybe she went to bed early.

Then I heard the softest noise from behind me, and before I could react, my mouth and nose were covered with a soft cloth, and I could smell something chemical on it. I struggled, I flailed, I tried to scream, but the chemical smell was gagging me, slowing me, stopping me. My head was spinning, and the terror leapt into my heart like a ferocious beast, tearing me from the inside out. I coughed, I flailed, but a vaguely familiar voice said, "Don't worry, my darling, everything will be absolutely perfect now." And as the last moments faded into the black abyss, I remembered one thing: Jason's perfect smile. Jason, please...help...

And then nothing. Nothing at all.

It was as if I were waking from being date-rape drugged all over again. First, my sense of hearing came back. There was the familiar click of a ceiling fan, and I could hear some heavy breathing coming from near me. The sound made me gag a little in my throat.

My body was lying prostrate on a bed, a comfortable, familiar bed, my arms tied to the headboard above my head. When my sense of touch fully returned, I could feel that I had no clothes on, feel the breeze of the fan above me on my bare body, and I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, not wanting to look, not wanting to see or feel or be.

Finally, reasoning with myself that I needed to face this situation, as horrible as it was, I opened my eyes. I was in my bedroom. I shuddered violently. There were hundreds of candles all around lighting the room in what I supposed this freak thought was a romantic gesture. There were rose petals all around me on the bed, and the smell of them made me want to vomit. Then I saw him. Then I knew fear.

"Ah, you're awake," he said sweetly, as if I were just waking from a casual nap. "I enjoyed watching you sleep, but you're just so lovely when your eyes are open." He came over and sat on the bed next to me, stroking my cheek with the back of his paw. I recoiled, sickened beyond reason.

"I know you!" I whispered angrily, not knowing what else to say. "You're...you're that fox I helped with his papers outside of class that day!"

And so he was. There he sat before me, that unassuming, slightly chubby, slightly nerdy, easy to ignore red fox, his glasses glaring in the candle light, his smile disturbing me in every possible way. HIM? How could it be HIM? I didn't even KNOW him! I didn't know anything about him! I didn't know his name, I didn't know who he was or what he did or why he was doing this to me!

"Oh, don't be silly, of course you know me," he replied. "We're soul mates, Taylor, we've known each other forever." He pet my hair, and I cringed.

Tears were welling up in my eyes. I started to cry, pulling against the bonds on my arms, trying desperately to break free. "Why are you doing this to me?!" I sobbed.

"Oh, don't cry my dear," he said menacingly, "It upsets me when you cry. And I don't think you want to upset the man you love, now do you?"

I was absolutely beyond fear, beyond loathing, beyond disgust. I was shattered.

"I'm just loving you, my sweet," he continued, stroking my hair no matter how I resisted. "I love you so, so much, you don't even realize." He swept his fingers down my neck, and I shuddered violently, never feeling so violated in my life. "I love you so much that I wrote my letters to you in my own blood. Did you notice that, Taylor?"

I only cried harder, pulling at my bonds with all my strength, my legs flailing on my bed.

He talked over me, as though my crying were beyond his notice. "Yes, my love, I gave my blood to tell you how much I love you. I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you in Professor Chasm's class. After weeks of longing for you, one day, you brushed past me on your way to sit with your panther friend, and just as we touched, I knew we'd be together forever." He rubbed his smallish, stubby paws over my shoulder and chest, and I groaned in protest, not even having the will to scream at him not to touch me.

His cold blue eyes flashed as he continued his story. Clearly, telling me all of this was part of his-I choked-fantasy.

"I knew then that I must have you, that I must make you mine." He bent over and smelled my neck and up into my hair, and I cried out loudly. He ignored me. "So, I started to watch you, to see what your habits were. I tried to learn more and more about you, and the more I learned, the more I wanted you. So, I wrote my first letter, telling you how much I cared for you, how much I wanted you to be mine. But you ignored me. You didn't even notice." There wasn't hurt in his voice, only malice, and it scared me. I could feel his paw tighten around my throat.

"Please...please, I beg you..." I cried to him, dying inside.

"Shhh...Don't worry, soon, soon," he cooed, apparently under the impression that I wanted what he did. I coughed, trying to fight back vomit. "So anyway, I thought that I just needed to be more forward with you. But, you did it for me, you brilliant puppy. When I was carrying my work and the wind blew, you came and helped me. The way you looked at me, I could tell you wanted me as much as I wanted you, and you cared enough to help me...I was so happy that you loved me, so happy..."

"I was just being nice," I pleaded, terrified. My heart was thumping so rapidly I couldn't've counted the beats if I'd tried. I don't want to die, I thought. I don't want to die.

"I realize that," he snapped, as if telling me to shut up. "You were nice enough to help me, which means you cared. So anyway," he continued on, having grabbed my shoulder too tightly and likely bruised me in the process, "at that moment, once I knew your feelings for me were there, I pursued you even more, knowing in my heart that we'd be together." He leaned down, his paws wrapped around the sides of my chest just under my arms, and he buried his face in my neck roughly, inhaling deeply and shuddering in such a sickeningly twisted way that I shuddered too, gagging and choking, trying to pull myself away without success. He pulled up, staring at me adoringly, and I cringed. "I wrote you a second letter, in class of course, while I sat behind you and watched you. I always write my letters to you in class, so that I can look at you the whole time I'm writing them. You inspire me to write my love for you." He beamed, and I shut my eyes, trying to tell myself this was a bad dream. "No one ever sits by me, so no one notices that I use an old dip pen, that I have a well of my own blood in my bag." He laughed lightly, as if he'd told a mildly amusing joke. I moaned softly, finding every last word coming from him grotesque, my muscles shrinking from his every touch, which was now all over my chest and stomach. "In any event, I delivered my letter to your mailbox, then I went to the gym and waited at the pool, as I do every afternoon, hoping that you'll walk through the door and take off your clothes for me. And that day, I was lucky. Just as I was getting ready to leave for the day, you walked in, in all of your beautiful wolfy glory. I was absolutely ecstatic, but I didn't show it. I played coy, packing my things slowly, not letting you see the camera I used to snap photos of you, or my journal of your daily activities. I don't even think you knew it was me, my beautiful. And yet, you stripped off all of your clothes so casually, so confidently, that I know in my heart that you knew I was there, watching you, taking in every detail."

"I didn't know," I whispered, my voice straining, my head hurting, my wrists searing under their restraints. "I was just going for a swim, like usual..."

"No one has that much self-assurance!" he snapped at me, and he raised his paw, as if he were going to slap me. "You KNEW I was watching! You never could have let just ANYONE see you like that! In just that skimpy swimsuit! You wore it for ME!" I recoiled, waiting for him to hit me, but he didn't. He merely pushed my bangs out of my face, and I shut my eyes tight again, terrified and aching and disgusted. "Anyway," he sighed, twirling a piece of my hair in his finger. I wanted to cut that strand off. "As I was saying, you swam, and I watched your every stroke. You looked lovely, cutting through the water like that. But that was nothing to what my eyes feasted on later, when you went to the locker room and took a shower. My God...such exquisite beauty, so lovely and strong and handsome, I was overwhelmed." He licked his lips, his mind not even having to wander to that moment, for here I was, served on a platter for him, at least in his sick world. I wanted to scream until my lungs bled. "You revealed your gorgeous body to me, every little bit, and I took it all in, I took so many pictures that my camera battery died."

I gagged again, trying to suppress the urge to vomit. I can't believe this is happening. This isn't happening. I'm going to wake up, I'm going to wake up, I'm going to wake up.

He rolled his paw over my hip lazily, and I tried desperately to pull away. My resistance just egged him on, it seemed, because he grabbed my hip firmly and moaned. It's as if he thought I were gyrating for him, showing off for him. God, he's fucking sick, I thought. He's so fucking twisted.

"I remember touching myself while I snapped those photos...I came all over the locker room floor, imagining this moment with you, when our love would finally be consummated..." he purred, and his paw stroked over my thigh.

"Please, don't...." I whimpered, the tears flowing freely, my throat in pain, my head in pain, my heart in pain. "Don't do this..."

"I know it can be scary, how deeply we feel for each other, but don't worry," he cooed, and I winced as he took my balls in his paw and rolled them around. "I'm going to be gentle with you, I'm going to show you how much I love you."

I thrashed my legs, which for some reason he hadn't bound to the footboard of my bed, and twisted and turned to get away, but he grabbed me and held me down tightly. "No!" I shouted, "No, no, no, no, NO!"

"Oh yes," he replied, as if my 'no's were all just a game, like I was teasing him. I was crying so hard, sobbing, and I was losing control of everything. I thought I would hyperventilate again, or something, but all I could do was cry. "Yes, my darling," he said, and he stroked my limp member. I cried out loudly, nearly a scream, and kept saying "no," but he didn't care. And unfortunately, biology overtook emotion, and my shaft started responding to the stimulation.

"Ooo, puppy's getting excited for the big moment," he giggled, and I screamed. I screamed and screamed until he struck me with the back of his paw hard across the muzzle, making me yelp and quiver in pain. "I'm sorry, my love, but you mustn't scream like that. I know you're excited, but there are other ways to express it."

"You're fucking SICK!" I yelled at him, sobbing. "I don't fucking love you! Stop TOUCHING me!" I fought, thrashing again. He pinned me down, with some effort, and slapped me again, this time with his full strength, and I felt blood ooze inside my mouth as one of my teeth cut my lip open. That silenced me.

"See what you made me do!" he shouted at me, as if I were a petulant child. "Now be fucking quiet and listen to my story of our courtship!" He was enraged, yet he went back to being calm in an instant. That, more than anything else he'd done or said, terrified me. This weird imbalance he had scared the fucking shit out of me.

"As I was saying," he said, back to his sweet, calm voice that made me want to die, "I saw you at the gym, stripping for me, and I knew that you wanted me. Your body told me the whole story. So, I decided that we had to keep seeing each other. I had heard you talking to that...that JASON," he said the name with contempt, "telling him to meet you at the café that evening for some Econ tutoring. I knew your grades in that class to be great, so I thought this was a little suspicious. I visited the coffee house that night, and overheard you inviting him to a party. You didn't even notice me, nor did your little friend, spying on the whole thing. When Jason agreed and left, I was elated. I had also heard you say you wanted only to be friends with him. That made me so happy, so excited that you were trusting your heart and soul to only me." I couldn't even process what he was saying anymore, it was getting so crazy. It didn't make sense. It just plain scared me, made me moan and cry in agony as he released me from being pinned underneath him, returning to stroking my legs. "So I decided that I'd go to the party and see you there, be with you there, and make you mine there."

I continued to sob, my mouth hurting, my body convulsing with my anguished cries.

"When you arrived, you looked so lovely. How did you know my favorite color on you was white?" he asked me coyly, as though he was flattered that I'd been so thoughtful.

"I didn't," I cried.

"Well, you looked simply amazing that night, as I said, and I thought, Well, it won't be too hard to get him away from his friends. But, when I bumped into you on your way to the bathroom, I thought that you'd noticed me, that you'd see my plan to give us a secret rendezvous...I didn't want to spoil the surprise, but then you turned when I apologized as if you hadn't even heard me, and I knew that the plan was still a go." He grinned, satisfied with himself, and I just cried some more, losing my will to thrash and scream. Somebody help. Somebody save me.

"So, I slipped down the hall, right past your friends, and dropped a little something to relax you in your drink. They didn't even notice, of course, the fools. You know, you really don't need friends now that we're together, Taylor. I mean, they're stupid people, anyway. We're so beyond that kind of moron." He smiled, petting my thigh, then stroking my tail, and I choked on a sob, unable to form a response. I couldn't even look at him; the sight made me feel scared, hopeless, and enraged all at once.

"Anyway, the plan was to slip in and sneak you off for our wonderful night together, but your damn FRIENDS! They just wouldn't leave you alone!" he said, his temper flaring again. "Then, once the drug started taking effect on you, right when you were getting relaxed enough that I could carry you to somewhere more private, your stupid friend Christa goes and starts blaming that JASON for your behavior! As if that idiot could love you like I love you! As if that piece of shit could dream of knowing you as I know you!" He was furious now, but his open hostility fueled my hatred of him, made me just as angry.

"Don't you talk about Jason that way, you sick perverted FREAK!" I screamed, and I kicked him as hard as I could muster. He had been planted between my legs, crouching, touching the insides of my thighs, and I had rolled back, put my legs together, and kicked him as hard as I could in the chest, knocking him off the bed. Oh shit, I thought. Oh fuck, I'm a fucking idiot.

And I was right. He got up quickly, huffing. Clearly I had almost knocked the wind out of him. He was glaring at me with such hatred and anger the likes of which I'd never seen, and he raged at me, rushing at me and pummeling me with his fists, beating my face, my chest, my sides. He hit me in both eyes, in the jaw again, and I screamed and cried, begging for mercy, begging him to stop.

As abruptly as he had begun, he ceased, and I cringed and cried, my face feeling shattered, my side hurting, as though he had bruised and broken my ribs. My mouth was full of blood, and I spit it onto the sheets, a tooth or two going with it. This is it, I thought. He's going to kill me after this.

"Oh my darling," he cried to me, and I shuddered again. "Why do you make me do those things? You know I get jealous when you talk about other guys like that..." He got up from the bed and walked off, outside of my line of vision, not that I cared where he went. He came back from the bathroom with a moist washcloth, and he began to dab at the wounds he had just inflicted, making me wince and moan in pain and cry even harder.

"Shhh, it's okay now," the fox attempted to calm me. I tried to be quiet. I didn't want to make him mad again. "Now, where was I?" he said, as if nothing had happened. What the fuck is WRONG with him? I thought. "Ah yes, so your friend Christa had a little scuffle with that Jason, and she dragged you off to the hospital. Idiot girl, you weren't in any danger, not with me there," he explained as if he were telling me that two plus two equaled four. "I knew what I was doing when I gave you that Rohypnol. But she ruined our special night together. I vowed to never let either of them get in the way again," he said maliciously, and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, not wanting to know what he'd done with Christa and Tara.

"After the party, I knew what I had to do. I had to get Christa and Jason out of the way so we could be alone together. So, I continued to watch, to wait for my opportunity. When I saw you at the police station today, you looked so sad, I wanted nothing more than to comfort you. I wasn't sure if someone had stolen something from you, or if you'd witnessed something, but I remember hoping that the police would help you, that you'd come to me for help," he confessed concernedly. My instinct was to tell him that I was reporting him, and that the cops would know about this and find us and lock him up, but I suppressed it, bottled it up. He'll just hit me again, I thought.

"Then HE came out," he spat angrily, his eyes getting that terrifying fire once again. "And after a bit, he started TOUCHING you and KISSING you, and I almost LOST IT!!" he screamed, smacking my nightstand with his fist, a couple candles nearly toppling off. "The way that bastard was all over you, touching MY man, I wanted to go over there and cut his fucking HEAD OFF!"

I yelped in fear, hoping to God that Jason was somewhere safe.

"And then he dragged you to that restaurant, trying to wine and dine you into his bed, no doubt, but I knew you only cared for me. I knew you wouldn't betray me. I also knew that you were staying with Christa and her roommate at their apartment, so I rushed over there and took care of them before you got back." He paused, breathing, as if to calm down, and I cried again. I was really hoping he hadn't killed them. "Thankfully I had enough chloroform for all three of you. I tied them up and hid them in the rabbit's closet, then waited for you to come back." He moved his left paw down my stomach, over my cock and balls, and started rubbing my taint. I cried out, but I didn't tell him to stop. He'd just hit me again, and I didn't know if I could take any more pain than I already knew was coming. I could feel his fingers rubbing lower and lower, toward my hole, and I clamped my jaw shut; I knew my first reaction would be to scream and fight again if he touched me there.

"And earlier than I had anticipated, you were back, and that fucker was kissing you again, touching you... I almost went out and killed him there, but I knew that you were just humoring him, that you were waiting to give yourself over to me, and that kept me sane until you walked through the door." As he explained these things, more and more I wanted to throttle him, for him to have a heart attack, something to stop him from ever laying a paw on me again. "And now, my darling Taylor, the love of my life..." he trailed off, staring at me, a smile on his face. He looked so innocent, yet so demented. He started running his paws over my hips, my thighs...my throat convulsed, my eyes squeezed shut. I don't want to watch this, I don't want to watch this. Just go to a better place, Taylor, just imagine something else, think of ANYTHING else.

And then he shifted his weight on my bed. He climbed in between my legs, and his filthy paws ran down my inner thighs and over my cock and balls. I sobbed loudly, my fists clenched so tight that it felt like my claws were slicing my palms open. Then, the one place he hadn't violated, the one place he hadn't sullied, he finally started to explore. He reached down and stroked my taint, and then, with a deep inhalation of breath that renewed my sickened gagging, he ran his fingers over my already clenched hole. My whole body now felt dirtier than it ever had. I was wailing in agony, like the sick bastard was burning me.

"I love you so much, you sexy thing," he told me softly, stripping his shirt off. Oh God, please don't, please don't touch me anymore, don't take your clothes off, don't do this, don't don't don't!

I whipped my head to the side, and a little of my hair covered my face. Good, I thought, shade me from this, cover me from this horrible, absolutely vile act that is about to be committed on me. I want to die. Just let me die.

I could hear that he was unzipping his pants, and I forced myself to envision SOMETHING. And the first thing that came to mind was Jason. Beautiful, sweet, handsome Jason, his luminous white fur a beacon of light in the night, his amazing kiss, his incredible smile, his warm embrace. God Jason, I think I could have fallen in love with you. But after tonight... I sobbed really hard, not wanting to think about if I'd make it to tomorrow or not.

"Oh Taylor, you're so beautiful...I can't believe you're finally mine," the fox growled in what he thought was a sensual voice, but what was really a crackly vomitous slurp.

And then I felt it. My eyes were still tightly shut, but I knew what it was. He gave my hips a pull, and I felt my ass come to rest in his lap. Oh God, please no. I heard him spit in his paw, and I shuddered so violently that I may as well have been on the summit of Everest. His thumb rubbed over my hole roughly, and I tightened it even further, moaning a quiet "no" of protest, a whispered whimper in the blaring noise of a dishonest and vile act. And then, it was touching me. His penis was pressed against my asshole. I don't know what made me say it, maybe it was desperation, but it was all I could think to say.

"I don't even KNOW you! I don't even know your NAME! How can I love you? I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME!"

His whole body seized up, and he stopped. The noise stopped. Everything stopped. He leaned back a little, and his cock left me. His paws left me. He left me. It was the most relief I had ever felt. Ever.

I chanced opening my eyes, and I was surprised by what I saw. I expected the fox to be angry, to be furious with me, to start beating me, or to rape me violently. But he was just crouched between my legs, naked, his shoulders hunched, his glasses off. And tears were in his eyes.

"Of course not!" he wailed, getting up from the bed. I had never seen a person look more pitiful, more dejected. More rejected. "Why would YOU, beautiful, perfect, amazing YOU, know MY name?"

Something came back to me. 'Stalkers have low to no self-esteem, and yet they're narcissists; they think that the world revolves around them, that you belong to them.' Detective Morris's words rang in my head. Low to no self-esteem, yet a narcissist. He thinks I belong to him, but when it comes down to it, he thinks he doesn't deserve me or anyone. God, how sickeningly pathetic.

"You know what?" he said, and his tone shifted again. It wasn't sad anymore, and as he approached me again, his face wasn't sad either. It was angry. "I'm going to MAKE you know me, and you WILL love me. You BELONG to me, Taylor." He climbed on the bed between my legs again, and I thrashed, fighting back, but he merely grabbed both legs under his arms, using them to pull himself snugly between them. "I'm going to make you remember my name forever."

He grabbed at my hips and held my thighs at his sides with his elbows, pushing his hard cock against my soft hole again, which had relaxed in that moment of pity. He leaned in over me, the head of his shaft pushing into me ever so slightly, and he grabbed my jaw hard in one paw, kissing me roughly. I fought, but he didn't care. God, he's going to penetrate me...he's going to touch a place I can never get clean again...

The head of his cock was almost all the way in, even though I fought it. I closed my eyes again, and I imagined Jason's handsome face beaming at me. Please Jason, bring me peace. Help me through this.

"My name is Edmond Whitaker," the fox called Edmond said in my ear, biting it and pushing himself against me, into me, more. "Edmond, Edmond, Edmond," he repeated. As if I would ever forget. As if I COULD ever forget.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise from the direction of my front door, an explosive noise, and my eyes flew open. What I saw was a blur. To this day, I can't remember it clearly. Edmond sat up and pulled the head of his disgusting cock from me, and there was a flash of white, and a loud thud, and some yelling, and another couple thuds.

The atmosphere of my room grew hundreds of times brighter and warmer instantly. In a moment, I'd gone from being raped to being saved. Jason was untying me, Jason was lifting me in his arms, Jason was holding me to his chest and kissing all over my face, crying into my hair, squeezing me, licking my neck, nuzzling my cheek. Jason was grabbing a blanket from my living room couch and wrapping me in it, never putting me down. Jason was carrying me to the elevator and down to the lobby, where moments later, police and paramedics rushed in. Jason was holding my paw, explaining that Edmond was upstairs, lying unconscious. Jason was giving me the tightest, warmest, most amazing hug I'd ever felt before he let me go to the paramedics. When he set me down alone, I screamed like I'd never screamed in my life. I screamed as if someone had stabbed me, as if I were being tortured.

"NO, DON'T LEAVE ME!" I remember wailing, and he didn't. He came right back to me and picked me up again, squeezing me so tight that I almost fainted from lack of oxygen. And I cried harder than ever, my arms wrapping around his neck, my body shaking violently, bursts of "Oh GOD!" interjected between my heaving sobs.

He didn't try to shush me, or tell me that I was screaming in his ear. In fact, his crying was almost as loud as mine. His crying was angry and hurt and sorrowful and beautiful. I clutched at him desperately, my claws digging into his shoulders. Paramedics backed away, obviously seeing that I was too emotional to be seen. They stood by, I could feel them, while we cried together, while we died inside together.

The following hours were the most draining and horrible of my life, save for the experience that had preceded them. After ten minutes of clutching at each other for dear life, Jason and I were forced apart, the paramedics insisting that they take me to the hospital so a doctor could perform an exam to make sure I wasn't seriously injured. I agreed, trying to wipe my tears away, but they flowed still, my eyes burning. I had never cried so much in one night. Jason followed me, and the paramedics tried to stop him, saying that I had been through enough, but I yelled and screamed, insisting that he be there for the exam.

It was horrible. When the doctor, a pretty, middle-aged, shorthair cat woman, took the blanket off and revealed my naked body inside the exam room at the hospital, I heaved and gagged, getting to the pan Jason gave me just in time to puke. I started crying again, but when Dr. Lowel asked if I needed to stop, I told her that I'd be fine. She inspected my face first, telling me that my jaw might have a hairline fracture. I was missing three teeth. I had two black eyes, and she thought my clavicle might be bruised or cracked. She said I had two broken ribs, and that I definitely was going to need x-rays. Then came the hardest part. She had to exam my genitals and do a rape kit. At first I cried that it wasn't necessary, but she assured me that it was the best way to have a sound case in court, to insure there was as much evidence as possible against the assailant. So I agreed. And she touched me. Every time her gloved paw came in contact with my penis, with my testicles, with my anus, it made me feel sick. She swabbed and sampled, making sure to collect any DNA that might be there.

All the while, Jason held my paw. All the while, he looked me straight in the eyes, never once looking down to see my vulnerable and naked body, never once leaving my side. He held the pan when I threw up, he pet my head and told me how brave I was when Dr. Lowel performed the rape kit. He was drawn, sickly looking himself, but he was there for me. And he didn't even know how much it meant to me. I don't think I could have expressed the feeling in words.

The following hours were full of tests. X-rays to assess my bone damage, scans to check for internal bleeding and things, all designed to help me, all painful and exhausting. Finally, I got to lie in my bed in my gown under the covers, with Jason sitting beside me, holding my paw. We were there in silence for a long time, his grip never slackening. Finally, I felt I should express how I was feeling.

"Jason, I...I wanted to thank you. You've been so amazing...helping me, saving me, being with me this whole time...you don't know how much it means that you were there for me," I said, my eyes threatening to tear up again.

Jason stared at me for a few moments, thinking about what I'd said. "Taylor...you don't have to thank me, I...I don't know..." he choked then, sniffing. "I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't gotten there when I did, but I do know that I will never let anything like that happen to you ever again. I'm never going to leave your side from now on." He smiled at me, tears running out of his reddened eyes and down his cheeks. "If that's okay with you," he added, his smile broadening a little.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I said. And we just looked at each other, smiling, for the longest time. The last thing I remember was seeing some sunlight coming in through the window and illuminating Jason's amazing face. Then, I slowly drifted off into what was thankfully the deepest and most dreamless sleep I'd had in a long, long time.

The next few days after "the incident," as I like to call it, were rough. But they started out better than I could have hoped. I got to wake up to Jason's beautiful, smiling face, and I did something that I don't think many other victims of rape (or I guess, partial rape, in my case) do; I pulled him to me and kissed him full on the mouth, deeply, sensually, warmly, and a bit wetly. It was an amazing sensation to touch and be touched willingly, something I had always taken for granted until that point.

Then the chaos began. I was visited by Christa, and surprisingly, Tara, both of whom were apologetic and in tears, both of whom were-shockingly enough-hugging and agreeing with each other. Traumatic experiences do bring people together, I suppose. Christa smothered me, of course, and fussed over me, apparently hearing from my doctor that I'd likely need a lot of female support right now, as males would remind me of the incident.

My parents came next, having flown in when they heard what had happened. My mom, bless her, was a walking raw nerve. Every little thing made her explode into tears, and she was even worse than Christa when it came to the smothering. It became all too clear that they thought I needed "positive physical contact," like it'd cancel out the negative shit I'd experienced. Right.

My dad, black as pitch just like me, was somber and making fists constantly. My dad and I weren't much alike, but he definitely had a mean, protective streak about him that I respected the hell out of. I knew he'd like nothing better than to go down to the police station and kill my attacker, but he restrained himself, thankfully. And for the first time since I was a child, he kissed me and hugged me. It was awkward, but nice.

Then came the police, led by Detective Morris. She explained that after Jason and I had parted, she had called that night to check on me. When I didn't answer after three tries, she had called Jason, and he confirmed that he had tried to call me also, without answer. She also explained that it was his memory that had saved me; in one of our conversations about the letters, I had mentioned that I theorized that my apartment was the last place anyone would look for someone to attack me, because I thought it seemed way too obvious. Morris, looking ashamed, admitted that had he not said anything, she might not have checked there first for that same reason, and because I wasn't staying there, nor did I have any reason to be there alone. I remember sighing a lot. I was exhausted.

Morris let me know that unfortunately, despite how hard the previous night had been on me, I was going to have to relive it for her. I shuddered, but solemnly agreed that it was best to get it over with quickly.

My parents, Christa, and Tara left the room quickly, but Jason stayed put.

"Mr. Pierce," Detective Morris said with a little smile, patting his paw, "I understand you're very protective of Mr. Dawson, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I'm staying," he replied fervently, gripping my right paw in his left.

She was about to protest, but I stopped her.

"He stays," I said firmly.

She looked as if she might retort again, but seeing our expressions, thought better of it, shrugging instead. "This is at your own emotional risk, Mr. Pierce, and I expect that I don't have to tell you that what is said in this room does not leave this room as far as you're concerned, do I make myself absolutely plain?"

"You do," he said, steadfast. He was supporting me every step of the way, and it made me want to cry from happiness and relief.

And so Detective Morris started a tape recorder, for evidence purposes, and she asked me to describe the night's events in as much detail as I could manage.

It was a rocky road, to say the least. I toughed through about half of the experience quickly, but there were parts where I nearly lost it. I broke down a few times, and I even gagged a little once. When I talked about how Edmond had beaten me, Jason gripped my paw so tightly that I thought it would break. The grimace on his face was nothing compared to the fury in his eyes. When I choked out how Edmond had touched me, violated me, and eventually, nearly penetrated me, Jason was shaking with rage. Tears were rolling down his face, he was so absolutely furious. His jaw was locked so tight I thought his teeth might shatter at any moment. I could tell it took every single ounce of his control not to completely lose his mind.

Detective Morris noticed his reaction, but she didn't say anything. She didn't want to make him talk, for having Jason open his mouth at that time wouldn't have been wise. He probably would have bitten the nearest person or object.

After I got to the point where Jason had come in and saved me, the room was deathly quiet for a few minutes, the silence deafening. Finally, Detective Morris clicked off the tape recorder, and she said softly, "Mr. Pierce...I'm so, so glad that I was right about you..."

He nodded solemnly.

She added, "I'm going to tell the doctors, nurses, and family that you'd like to be alone for a while." She smiled at both of us, a sad smile, and left the room. Thankfully, when she started the interview, she asked the officers accompanying her to leave, so I hadn't had to reveal that story to many.

Jason held my paw tightly, and we sat in silence, both of us staring off into space. Then, at seemingly the same moment, we looked at each other. His expression startled me; I'd never really seen him so absolutely serious before. But, as I stared into his chocolate eyes, his expression melted, warming into one of affection. I felt a little embarrassed just looking at him, but I knew my face mirrored his; I didn't think he knew how much he had saved me the night previous.

He swallowed hard, which look like it took some effort, and he said to me, "Taylor?"

"Yes, Jason?" I asked. I felt like there was a slight tension in the air, and I wasn't sure if it was emotional, mental, physical, or sexual, but it was palpable, as if I could feel it with my fingertips and toes.

"I understand all too well that you've been through an ordeal that is...more than many could bear, and you've done so wonderfully," he started, smiling just a tad, giving my paw a firm squeeze. "And...you've been so strong through all of this, so unbelievably strong..." He licked his lips, as if what he was saying was straining him. I could tell he was working toward something, and I could tell he was too shy to just come out with it. "Well, um..." he mumbled, and he looked down, adorably timid.

I reached out with my left paw and stroked his cheek, my paw encouraging him to look at me, my eyes trying to give him as much confidence as they could.

"Well, the uh...I know how hard this has been on you, and I know what that...that absolute fucking ASSHOLE did to you," he fumed, glaring off to his right.

I cupped his jaw in my paw and turned his face toward mine, willing him to look at me again. It hurt my heart to see him upset.

He turned back to me, and the bitterness faded. I let him tell me what he wanted to say in his own time. "Well, um, I...I want to comfort you, to make you feel better, to help heal you, but the only thing I know how to do is to...to hold you in my arms. Would...would that be okay?" He was looking at me longingly again, like all he'd ever wanted in the world was to take me into his embrace. He had the sweetest, most beautiful face to me, not just because he was my hero, but because he was the most honest, caring person I think I'd ever met.

I released his paw and face, and scooted away from him in my hospital bed, lifting the covers for him to get in. He hastily complied, slipping into bed next to me, and he pulled me into his embrace so quickly, it was as though he'd been desperate to hold me. I was being enveloped in his warmth, his strong muscles, his softness, his amazing scent. That scent overwhelmed me, and I shoved my muzzle into his neck, inhaling deeply through my nose. He gave a soft moan, holding me tighter, and I felt tears welling in my closed eyes. To have gone what I went through, then to feel so amazing just a short time later, was so overwhelming. My heart ached, my body seared with warmth, and I felt unworthy to be touched by something as pure and wonderful as Jason's amazing body. Yet, I reasoned with myself, it wasn't my fault that I felt dirty. I didn't do it. The confusion just made me cry, and Jason pulled his head back to look at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked simply. If only it was that easy to explain. And yet, when I looked up into his amazing brown eyes, it suddenly was.

"I...I feel dirty, from what he did...I feel tarnished, like I don't deserve this..." I said at almost a whisper, ashamed. A tiny sob escaped me, but I stifled it, controlling myself. "I don't deserve y-"

"Don't, don't say it!" he commanded, cutting me off. "Don't say that you don't deserve me, I can't stand it!" He unwrapped his arms from around me and gripped my face in both paws. "You aren't dirty or tarnished," he told me, tears coming to his eyes, too. "You are so fucking unbelievably beautiful, and sweet, and kind, and funny, and way too fucking smart for your own damn good!" He was almost laughing, he was so enthusiastic, and it made me smile and my eyes water even more. "You are so wholesome and good and incredible, that nothing that anyone could do to you would ever tarnish or sully you, no matter how awful it was, and even though I've only spent a handful of moments with you, just being around you makes me feel like I want to be the best wolf I can, just to even be in the same league as you, and despite everything, I know in my heart that when the time comes for us to get out of this bed and live our lives, I'll have been truly blessed just to have held you in my arms for this hour, just to have known you for those handful of moments!" He was crying profusely now, holding my face with his warm, overlarge paws, and he was staring at me with his watery brown eyes, as if searching for an answer to a profound question. I was amazed, astounded, flattered, and immensely...enamored. His tears were sparkling like diamonds in the light from the window, and he was so damn beautiful, I couldn't even stand it.

In an instant, my tongue was probing the recesses of his mouth, his lips were wrapped around mine, and his ferociously strong paws were entangled in my hair. I had never felt so full of emotion, so completely consumed by feelings, and I loved it and reveled in it, allowing myself to just feel and think and be without questioning if someone else would approve or how I would look or sound doing it.

We kissed for what seemed like forever, the passion and sincerity and honesty and ferocity of all of it comingled with the sadness and the healing and the forgiveness and the relief, our tears flowing freely, our arms around each other tightly, our bodies melded together, like they'd never be apart again.

After a long while, we slowed ourselves down, softening our kisses, allowing each other to breathe, kissing each other's faces, throats, shoulders, ears. Urgh, his perfect ears. I took one in my mouth and gnawed on it, and to my immense pleasure, Jason moaned encouragingly, as if he'd wanted his ear in my teeth all along. And as we slowed, drinking each other in like this, he kissed my neck for the hundred-thousandth time, and yet the first time, and I laughed softly. A tinkle of bells on the wind.

"What?" he asked, the first word spoken in millennia. He looked into my eyes, and we smiled at each other so fully that we kissed again to stifle each other's adorableness.

"Well, I thought of how the doctor was saying that I wouldn't trust men, that I'd need a strong female bond through these hard times...and yet, you're the only one I trust right now, the only one who can calm me. You're the only one who could save me." I kissed his mouth adoringly, and he returned my kiss eagerly, as if we'd only begun.

"Taylor, I didn't save you because I wanted to. I saved you because I needed to, because I would have died if I didn't. You're beyond a desire, a whim, a want to me...you're a necessity," Jason explained as he pulled out of a kiss. "I need you. I hope...I hope that's okay, because it's nothing like what that fucking psycho Whitaker was doing, I can tell you that much. I mean, what the fuck was wron-"

"I get it, Jason, I get it...you need me. Well, I need you," I interrupted, giving him a light kiss. "Is it okay if we need each other?" I asked the question, but I knew what we were doing. We were substituting the word 'need' for another word, a word that had so many more meanings and implications and had so much more power than nearly any other word. But that was just something I couldn't afford to say. As much as Jason had saved me, had saved my heart and mind from being wrecked by what I'd seen and experienced, that word, those feelings, were untouchable.

"It's way better than okay, it's fucking wonderful!" Jason replied. He cursed when he was excited or worked up, which I actually found pretty cute. He pulled me into his arms, and I hugged him tightly, inhaling his smell once again. And then I found peace.

SIX MONTHS LATER

"Well, Taylor, I actually think you've done very well these past six months," Dr. Craig related in his quick, yet gentle voice. "Considering what you've been through, it's amazing to me, how quickly you were able to trust Jason with your body and your heart."

I smiled a little, thinking of my boyfriend. He had been nothing but considerate and sweet and amazing, and it made me feel guilty every day that I had misjudged him so horribly when we had first known each other. I had expressed these feelings to Dr. Craig, and he insisted that I come out with them to Jason, in order to clear the air and help me move on from them. I agreed, I just had never come up with a good time to do it.

"Thanks, Dr. Craig," I said.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Taylor?" the leopard replied in a sigh. He was extremely good looking, with a kind heart. I figured he'd be able to attract a mate easily, if he hadn't already. "Call me Vince. I appreciate the respect you give me, but it has a way of making a man feel...old," he laughed.

"I'm sorry, Vince," I responded, laughing myself. Dr. Craig-or Vince, whatever-had been great to me, helping me cope with a lot of the mental, physical, and emotional issues that had come up after the incident. Rape, as Vince had explained to me in our first session, is one of the most difficult obstacles to overcome in therapy, many times taking several years before the victim recovers fully-or at least, as fully as someone can recover. Add to that the mind-fuck of obsessive stalking, and Vince had expected me to be a basket case. Though my attacker hadn't been able to accomplish what he wanted, which was, of course, to penetrate me completely (and God knows what else), my therapist had insisted that I think of what happened to me as nothing less than full-blown rape. He explained that downplaying or making light of what had happened to me would be the first step toward getting abused again, toward thinking that what happened to me "wasn't a big deal."

I had acknowledged all of this readily, making peace with the incident, and allowing myself to feel clean again, to feel pure. My first five or six showers after the incident had been hours long, and I'd left my skin raw beneath the fur from scrubbing, especially in my more sensitive areas. I realized that water wouldn't do much, as there couldn't be any bacteria left. But it helped me stop crying all the time.

And six months after this tragic, horrible thing happened to me, I was feeling...great! I had a wonderful boyfriend who had been so supportive, and a great doctor, amazing friends, my family had been awesome...

"Taylor, I know we've been avoiding this subject for a long time, but I think I have to bring it up, so forgive me," Vince said, or rather warned. My heart dropped a little. The only real thing that had been bothering me was about to come up. "Don't you think you're ready to have sex with Jason yet?"

I looked at the floor, embarrassed. I knew everything was confidential in a psychiatrist's office, and I realized that it was his job to be very open and honest, but Vince had a way of just SAYING things like that like they were no big deal. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

"I don't know," I replied honestly, a worried tone in my voice. "Jason's been so great to me, and he's never once pushed me, or asked me, or hurt me in any way. And yet...I'm just not sure if I can handle someone being that...that..."

"That intimate with you," Vince finished for me. I smiled in thanks, a half-hearted smile. "Well, if you ask me, which I would hope you would, given that I'm your doctor, I think you're ready to take that step. You've shown such courage and strength the last few months, and you've really worked hard to move past all of this and focus on living happily again. And from the way you talk about your boyfriend, it's highly obvious that you're extremely attracted to him, and that you care for him deeply," Vince expressed to me, a happy smile on his face. He was great. He had been the other positive male influence I'd needed to move past the incident.

"I do find him extremely attractive...EXTREMELY," I confided, blushing, "and I do care about him, so, so much. But...what if I cry? What if I can't handle someone touching me there? Even him? What if he breaks up with me because I'm damaged goods, I can't be intimate?" My heart ached just saying such things, much less thinking about the possible reality of them.

"Taylor, I want you to ask yourself something," Vince said seriously. "Would YOU break up with HIM if the tables were turned? If he'd been through what you have, if he'd gone through the struggles you have to get his life back together, would you let a trivial thing like a failed sexual experience ruin the beautiful relationship you have?"

I paused before I answered, but I didn't have to think about what I'd say. More so, I was imagining the situation reversed, and it horrified me to think of Jason going through what I had. "No," I replied resolutely. "I wouldn't leave him for anything in the world. I wouldn't leave until he told me to." After this revelation, I smiled. "I might not even leave then."

"Are you going to tell him to leave if you try to take your relationship to a sexual level and you're not successful the first time?" he asked me, knowing the answer.

"Never," I said, still smiling.

"Well, there you go. And remember, sex is like anything else," Vince said with a sly grin that made him look much younger than he was. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."

When I got to Jason's apartment that evening, I was a little nervous. Of course, after Dr. Craig-dammit, VINCE-had mentioned having sex with Jason, I couldn't get it off my mind. Touching Jason, holding him, feeling his heat, his passion, his...attributes. God, just say it! I thought. His rock hard fucking COCK!

I shook my head, determined to put these thoughts out of my mind as I knocked on Jason's door. His apartment was in Verent Park, a really cute neighborhood right near the college, and the apartment itself was fabulous, courtesy of my amazing boyfriend. He had designed it to be very chic and modern, and as I discovered those first six months, he was quite the neat freak, so it always looked its best. I knew that if we lived together, it would get rough, because I was kind of a slob, but that was just another thing that I wiped from my mind as the latch clicked and the door swung open.

There was Jason, his radiant smile lighting up my night. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me as if it were the first time. He always kissed me like it was our first time, which made me feel more special than he could know.

"Hey baby," he said in his seductive little growl of a man-voice, and I felt like fanning myself. LET'S HAVE SEX! Fuck, I thought, damn you Vince!

But I was deluding myself. I had been thinking about having sex with Jason for months, and a couple of times, we had been making out ravenously and it had almost happened. Whenever one of us made the move to take off a piece of clothing, however, Jason always stopped and said, "Are you sure you're ready?" And then I had to admit that I wasn't sure, and that led to cuddling. I hadn't even seen Jason without his shirt, much less his pants.

"Hey sweetie," I greeted back, smooching him on the nose and letting myself in. The apartment smelled great, of course; Jason was a fabulous cook, just another of his talents that I didn't really possess. He had already made us dinner to celebrate our six-month anniversary, something I hadn't really put a whole deal of thought into, but something he insisted we celebrate. It felt a little high school to be celebrating our relationship in months, as if it were only going to last by count of months, but I humored him.

He snuck up behind me, grabbing me around the waist and chewing on my ear, which made me moan. "Happy Anniversary," he mumbled into it, squeezing me tight. The tip of my tail wagged excitedly between his legs, and as his scent enveloped me once more, I sighed in contented bliss. This was heaven to me, just being in his arms.

Think what a religious experience being in his ass is like, I thought. Then I mentally prison shanked myself, deciding to focus on the delicious meal Jason had set out on the small dining table.

As I paced over to the dark wood table, I saw lasagna, a favorite of mine, with garlic bread, salad, and...

"What, no dessert?" I scoffed, turning to Jason. He was wearing an aqua t-shirt that set his eyes off amazingly, and a pair of jeans that left little to the imagination. He was one of those guys that you could overlook if you weren't paying attention, but if you gave him that fraction of a second more when you glanced his way, you'd be absolutely stunned by his beauty.

"I'm not sweet enough for you?" he teased. He kissed my lips and strode past me, pulling my chair out for me, gesturing for me to sit down. There was some soft jazz playing; Jason always chided me for listening to music in which there were no instruments being played. He had dimmed the lighting, and it was overall quite romantic, a lone candle sitting before me in the center of the table as I took my seat.

He scooted me in, bending over my shoulder and kissing my neck, then sat across from me, looking excited at the prospect of eating his own food, which made me smile. He had this childlike quality to him, a pride in a job well done that was so rare to find. I loved it, and for a short while, I just watched him as he served himself, his arms even thicker than I remembered from when we met; he had been working out a lot lately, confiding in me one night a few weeks previous that he worked out more now than then because he wanted to look his best for me, and he didn't want anyone stealing me away. I had blushed at this, and told him he had already looked way too good for me to begin with, and that had started a compliment war that ended in kissing.

"Would you like me to serve you, my dear?" he asked me sweetly, and I offered my plate, saying, "I'd be delighted, kind sir."

"So, how was your day today? How was therapy?" Jason asked. Therapy. Vince. Sex with Jason. GOD DAMN IT!

"It was good!" I said. "Vince and I were just having our normal chat about life, and he randomly said to me that I've been doing really good, that I've made a ton of progress," I explained, conveniently leaving out that that progress involved being ready to do the nasty.

"That's great!" Jason replied with a grin. He was so genuine it killed me sometimes.

"Yeah," I agreed, taking my first bite of lasagna. God, this is amazing I thought, savoring the flavors. "This is so fucking good!" I complimented him, glad that my mind was wandering toward the food.

"Thanks babe," he said with another cute smile. God, he's got a way with that mouth...and his eyes...it's like he was built to captivate me, to intrigue me, to entice me...

Suddenly, I slammed my fork down on the table and stood up.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked me concernedly, his brow furrowing in worry. I wasn't one to act out insanely like that, but it was worth it just to see that cute expression form on his face.

"THIS!" I practically shouted, gesturing with my arms wildly. He winced, his ears down, like I had hurt his feelings, and I nearly died. "No, not what you've done, honey," I said more calmly, rushing over to him. "This," I explained, and I grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the most passionate and ferociously sexual kiss I could muster, my paws all over him. That helped him perk right back up, and he reciprocated, standing up so he could wrap me in his arms. I slipped my paws beneath his shirt, and they explored where my eyes hadn't been, over the muscles of his back, his shoulder blades, his hips, his incredibly arousing abs, his cock-hardening pecs...

"Stop, babe," he huffed, pulling out of our embrace. "I don't want to do anything you're not ready for, and you're making it really hard to resist. Really. Hard." He pointed down with a finger, and I saw something that made my mouth water. His jeans were swelling tightly, his shaft filling them, and I realized at that moment that I was more than ready for this. I couldn't think of a better person to be with, and I refused to let what Edmond had done to me to take this pleasure from me.

"Oh Jason," I said with a sensual rumble to my voice that I hadn't heard myself use in what felt like years, "I'm so much more than ready." With that, I grabbed his paw and directed it to my own crotch, where I let him feel just how ready I was. Once his paw was on my package, groping me, he was gone. He was as lost in me as I was in him.

My paws were all over him again, rubbing over his chest the most. I'd always had a thing for chests, and I could tell his was fucking amazing. For the first time ever, he grabbed my ass in both paws, and I moaned a little inside his mouth, which only seemed to excite him further, his massive paws massaging my rear, which had gone untouched for so long, and was aching for him, just like the rest of me.

I leaned back from his kiss and stripped my shirt off over my head, letting him see and touch my naked body for the first time since that fateful night six months previous. This time, he wasn't saving me from being violated, he was violating me, and I had never been so happy to be violated. Every stroke of his paw pads against my fur was like the lick of a flame, burning me with his desire. He was running his fingers through the soft white fur on my belly and over my hips, thrusting his own into me, and suddenly, my ass was pushed against the back of the couch, and he was guiding me to lean on it. Just as I let some of my weight rest on the couch, he leaned back and stripped off his own shirt haphazardly. Before he could come back in to kiss me, though, I stopped him.

"Wait!" I said, holding up a paw, and he instantly looked worried again. I couldn't let him touch me yet, because I was in awe of his body. His chest, like I had imagined, was perfectly sculpted, his pink nipples pert, his taut muscles covered by the thinnest layer of fat that gave him a realness, a softness, that made him infinitely sexier than any bodybuilder. And as I stared, I saw a trail of black fur start at his belly button and slip away down his jeans, and I was excited to see where that led to. "You...you're so amazingly, incredibly beautiful," I said to Jason, at a loss. I couldn't believe this was mine.

"Aw, babe," he mumbled shyly, and his ears flushed on the insides, a coy expression on his face. "I'm not all that great."

"Please," I argued, pulling him by the hips back against me. "You're better than I can put in words." And we kissed again, this time a lot softer and slower, more sensually, more intimately. It was as if a silent language was passing between us. We were discussing how we should make our first time together last as long as we could, savoring every moment of it.

His paws were in my hair, as they often ended up, and he was cradling me to him, our bodies touching in ways I had only fantasized about. After a few minutes, his paws made their way to the front of my pants, and my erection flexed uncomfortably at his touch, desperate to be free. He moaned as he felt it jump, and I groaned as his fingers undid my fly, our vocals only adding to the heat. When I heard that zipper slowly make its way down, I trembled a little, not from fear or remembering the past, but for excitement about what was to come.

Jason's left paw, his beautiful left paw, slipped into my pants and stroked my package through my underwear, which barely contained it given that I was wearing bikini briefs that night. The only way my cock stayed in place was by being pushed to one side, and Jason's fingers teased and tormented it, my body writhing in his grasp. He wriggled my pants down, pulling them away from my body slowly, savoring the moment when they fell around my ankles in a pool. He knelt slightly, kissing my neck and chest, and I heard him grumble, "You are so damn beautiful," under his breath, his paws stroking over my thighs and my ass, fingers casually playing with the elastic waistband in the back. He tugged my tail lightly, too, and I laughed the smallest laugh at his playfulness, his exploratory nature.

Meanwhile, my own paws were at work trying to even the playing field by getting his jeans off, the button giving me no trouble, the zipper gliding down like butter. I pushed his jeans down, and got to finally see the tent that had been forming, his boxer-briefs stretched to their limit. While I was definitely interested in taking our experience slowly, I didn't have as much self-control as my man. I wriggled out of his grasp, beginning to kiss down his body, my paws sliding into his underwear, my excitement building. I wanted to be face-to-face with it.

As I licked down his stomach, my body bent at nearly a ninety-degree angle, I finally took the plunge and pulled down slowly, my eyes widening as they feasted on something for which I had secretly longed for so long. His cock was pulled by the strong elastic downward, and it bounced back up springily, my boyfriend moaning above me, his glans expanding before my eyes as he flexed. His cock was bigger than I expected, and more beautiful than I could have hoped. It was probably around seven and half or eight inches long, perfectly thick, and curved to his left, which made it hang sexily to one side. It was pinkish, surrounded by thick black fur, which also covered his balls and looked like it continued beyond.

Despite how anxious I'd been to see this amazing sight, I was hesitant to act on it. I was so mesmerized, surprised, and incredibly aroused that for a moment, the whole thing overwhelmed me into simply staring at his shaft.

"Babe," he huffed, his breathing a bit erratic. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, it's completely okay."

"Jason," I replied, his sweet voice intonated by sexual desire the perfect wake-up call for me, "You have no idea how badly I've wanted this." With that, my paw stroked up his thigh and hip and wrapped around his thick cock, the meat throbbing beneath my grip. He moaned again as I gave the serpent in my palm a stroke or two, and just as I spotted a bead of precum forming at the tip, I opened my mouth and slid about an inch of him inside, suckling on it and licking it. His claws dug into the back of the couch, for I had kind of pushed him back up against it in my place, and he gave a kind of gasp that made my dick throb. It pulsated in my underwear, but I didn't touch it, didn't release it from its prison. I wanted Jason to be the one to take control of that, to want it all for himself.

I gripped the base of his cock in my paw and started to suck on it, deeper and deeper, the curve of it nudging the right side of my mouth, my tongue pressing it to the roof of my mouth, making it as tight a passage as possible. He was grumbling and groaning deeper than ever, and one of his massive paws was on my shoulder, squeezing gently in encouragement. I slipped him out of my mouth, licking the full length, then moved to his balls. They were proportionate to his big rod, and they hung in a way that said, 'I'm a fucking MAN,' which couldn't have turned me on more. I licked over each of them, feeling them loll and roll in his sac, and I moaned a little, Jason's every feature amazing me. He echoed my moan back to me, and quicker than I could comprehend, I was on my feet again, pulled up by my man's strong arms.

He copied what I had done to him, slinking down my body and tugging my underwear down, and when my own dick bounced out, a plump and full seven and a quarter inches, its pinkness somewhat bright against the white fur surrounding it, I repeated his sensual gasp, which I could tell drove him absolutely insane with lust. Wasting no time, he plunged my meat into his mouth, sucking it with an expert skill that left my body paralyzed, my mouth nearly forming a perfect 'O' in surprise and pleasure. He was rubbing my thighs with his big paws, one of them slinking up my inner leg and fondling my balls. I was in ecstasy, my eyes closed, wanting with everything I had for this experience to last an eternity.

Then he did something that made us both nearly whimper in heated excitement. His paws had pulled my legs apart, and his left, his skilled, strong, handsome left paw, had slipped between them, his finger rubbing and massaging my tight, soft, pink hole.

About this I had been the most terrified, yet also the most pleasantly surprised. I had feared anyone touching me there, for it had always been the place I had felt the most violated, the most abused. But Jason's finger wasn't abusing me, violating me...it was relaxing my hole, exciting me, unlocking a whole new realm of pleasure that I hadn't even experienced.

We stayed like that for several minutes, his lips wrapped around my cock tightly, his finger massaging my entrance, as if priming it for what was to come. Then, despite how incredible he was making me feel, I stopped him, slipping my shaft out of his mouth and pulling him to his feet. He kissed me on the mouth with a balance of passion and tenderness that nearly floored me, and he rubbed his body against mine, our dicks pressed tightly together. He was making me feel so euphoric that I had a hard time concentrating, but I willed myself to guide him, to pull my exquisite partner around the other side of the couch and to lie down on it. He looked adorably befuddled and amused, as though he were both curious what I was doing and simply happy to have me touch him at all, but he complied and lie down on the couch, his banana-like cock resting on his chiseled stomach.

His relaxed pose, with one of his paws tucked behind his head, was sexy in and of itself, and I quickly made my motives known to my lounging wolf, climbing atop him in reverse so we could suck each other. He seemed happy with this prospect, slipping my straight, hard, throbbing cock back in his mouth, his own dick plunging back into my mouth. I loved this, because we both were moaning and growling and grumbling simultaneously, which made it that much hotter. But Jason was the type that was so good, everything he did just made me want more. More of that sweet cock, those amazing balls...that ass. I hadn't even gotten to see it yet, much less feel it, and suddenly, I wanted it.

I reached forward, sliding my arms between his muscled thighs, and pulled them apart, rolling him back by looping his legs in my arms. And there it appeared, a soft, pink, tight, unsurprisingly beautiful hole that was tensed at the sudden chill of the air. Jason didn't respond as though he were surprised, though, he only continued to suck my cock enthusiastically, his skilled mouth eliciting moan after moan from me. His hole was surrounded by black fur; apparently, his black spot barely trailed from his navel, down over his package and taint, then ran like a stripe back up his rear, the outsides of his cheeks white, the insides black. I had never seen an Arctic wolf with black markings as distinct as this, and the uniqueness was just one out of a million things that surprised, aroused, and enamored me.

With one last glance, I pushed my muzzle forward, and without hesitation, gave Jason's asshole a full, slow lick, groaning heatedly myself before he could. Eating his ass like this made me want to cum, made me want to blow my load right down his willing throat, but I controlled myself...barely. I licked and licked, rimming his sweet butthole with abandon, my sense of power over the situation gone long ago. My body wasn't functioning on brainpower anymore, it was working on instinct, urging me toward more and more pleasurable acts.

Taking my lead (and obviously hungry for my hole), Jason pulled my butt down toward himself and began to rim me back, devouring me in a wholly mind-blowing, body-rocking manner. I could hear myself moan, "God, YES," and Jason continued fervently, egged on by my arousal, by my enjoyment.

This sixty-nine embrace lasted a lot longer than when we were sucking each other's cocks. Apparently, we were both rimmers, and we both loved being rimmed, too. Licking his hole until it relaxed and relented beneath my tongue was like picking a lock: it feels so damn good to do it, just so you can hear that "click" of it opening. My tongue was dipping inside him now, tasting him fully, and after a few minutes, I pulled back, put my finger in my mouth, and began to massage his asshole, preparing it for something more. I licked his taint, and with another sexual gasp from my boyfriend, my finger slowly penetrated his hole, searching for the softness and heat inside.

I only teased him, pulling it back out, but that teasing was enough to drive him absolutely crazy. He sat up, grabbing my hips in both paws and spinning me round seemingly effortlessly, his guiding paws seating me right in his crotch, his thick member sliding between my ass like a hotdog in a bun.

I was facing him, sitting upright, and to feel him throbbing underneath me, his body begging to enter me, made me want to cry out in ecstasy. He brought his paw to his muzzle and spit in it, bringing it down to his shaft and stroking it, making himself huff with pleasure in the process. Then, I stole his cock out of his own grip, grasping it in my own and raising myself up, guiding his aching rod to my waiting entrance.

With a sigh and a fluttering close of my eyes, I was rubbing the head of his cock on my hole, back and forth, back and forth, my tail twitching behind me, my toes curled. I could hear him beneath me, muttering, "Oh fuck yeah," and I felt myself getting close to the edge again, just from those words. I had been dying to hear him say something like that, something so simple yet so fucking powerful.

Slowly, very slowly, I began to let my weight fall. At first, it felt like his cock were just a pressure on my hole; then, as I let myself relax, as I let my instinct take full power over me, he began to stretch me, to fill me. When the head of his dick was inside fully, I stopped and squeezed it with my ass, and he gripped onto the couch, fighting the urge to push himself all the way inside. I determined not to close my eyes anymore. I wanted to see his face when I got him all the way in, when I let him become part of me.

I started to descend again, my ass opening to him much easier than I thought, and inch by inch, I slid him inside me, filling me up, prodding every sensitive spot. Down, down, down, each new inch a new moan, a new level of euphoria.

Then, it was done. My weight was resting on his hips, his warm crotch supporting my ass, and his big, curved dick was in to the hilt, the bend of it causing it to prod a spot that I didn't even know I had, an incredible, life-altering spot.

I sat there for a moment, staring into his chocolate eyes, and he stared back, his gaze intense. Then he reached out for me, guiding me to his lips, kissing me sensually, romantically, adoringly. To kiss him, I had to lean forward, letting his cock out just the slightest bit, which was totally comfortable. Comfortable wasn't good enough for Jason; he arched his lower back, which pushed his hips away from me, his cock sliding out slowly, then pushed back inside, holding me tightly to him while his hot, thick, mind-blowing member made its first few thrusts inside my ass. I gave a grunt of deep longing, urging him to continue, and he did faster, pumping in and out of me at a rhythmic pace.

While I found this beyond erotic, I still wanted more. More more more. I sat up, plunging him deep inside me, and began to ride him, watching as his face contorted into the most intense expressions, his body responding to my every movement, his hips meeting mine to deepen the force of the thrusts. I knew this couldn't last, it was too good. Everything about this was way too good. He was already sweating, breathing hard, panting, really. We were both getting close already, our bodies urging each other to that last frontier: the climax.

I wanted more. I reached down with my right paw after sucking on my finger again, and plunged it deep inside his tight hole, this new, stretched position of mine making my back arch, which made my own riding thrusts that much more powerful. He moaned loudly when my finger went inside his hole, barely giving him a taste of the fucking he was giving me, and his hips began to roll, lifting my weight with their power and urgency.

We were on a completely different plane, a place beyond intimacy and passion, beyond fucking, beyond sex. We were synchronized, in a sexual rage, a flaming fervor that enveloped us completely, and all the while my mind was breaking down its last barriers, and a revelation was occurring.

We were panting, we were sweating, and his big paw was stroking my dick, pumping it, pushing me closer, closer...his cock was prodding me, my ass was gripping it, trying to pull the orgasm out of it. We could have been in a fight to the death, and it wouldn't have looked much different. The same desperation, the same longing, the same urgency.

And it happened. He gave a particularly ferocious buck of his hips, and it was like I could feel his glans flare inside me, his shaft firing his cum right against my prostate, throwing me off the proverbial cliff, sending me into absolute fits of pleasure. He was groaning below me, practically screaming in bliss, and I was echoing that convulsion, my own shaft spewing its load all over his chest and stomach in thick ropes. I heard myself cry out, "Oh JASON!" and I think his orgasm was renewed by the sound of his name, his cock pounding into me even harder, his moaning growing louder.

It felt like this moment was hours long, maybe even days. Yet all too quickly, it was over. And I couldn't breathe, I was shaking with satisfaction, and I let myself be caught in his embrace, in his kiss. I lay on his chest, trying to catch my breath, keeping his cock inside me as long as I could manage, and he kissed my forehead, clutching me to him, as if I'd float away otherwise.

We lied like that for a while, together trying to slow our pounding hearts, together trying to recover from the explosive rapture we'd given each other. And the revelation slammed into me like a semi.

"I love you," I said so softly that barely I could hear it. And yet he heard me. He propped himself up on his elbows suddenly, which urged me to sit up again, and he stared at me intensely.

"What?" he asked, his voice cracking, his eyes sparkling.

"I...I love you, Jason," I said louder, so he could hear. "I love you so damn much it hurts, and I'm so sorry it took me this long to say it."

He stared into my eyes, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, and he stared at me some more, as if he were translating what I said mentally before he could understand it.

"Babe?" I asked, a little worried. He wasn't saying anything, just looking like he might cry some more.

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear those words," he choked out, smiling handsomely at me. "I've...I've loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I've loved you more with each passing day. But I didn't want to say it, I couldn't...I didn't want to pressure you, to-"

And he was silenced by my mouth. We were kissing again, and he was inside me in so many ways now, his tongue, his shaft, his mind, body and soul. And I'd never felt so amazing, even though I was in the afterglow of the best orgasm I'd ever had. He loved me.

And I was so in love with him.

And we were so damn happy.

There's a certain way that my back arches when I feel the trickle of his fingertips over my side, and as he pushes his muzzle into the nape of my neck, huffing my scent like a true addict, the smile that creeps over my face is warmer than the sunlight on my toes. He always reaches for me with his left.