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Sean heard the chime that told him that Marty had responded. The fox had been so insistent that Sean have a role play with him that, finally, the German Shepherd had relented. Marty had made an opening gambit suitable to summer, with lawn-mowing and next-door neighbors who hadn't really had a chance to get to know one another. The shep moved the story forward a notch, describing himself mowing his back yard lawn wearing only cut-off shorts, sweating in the hot sun, muscles moving under the damp fur, etc., etc., etc. It was standard fare; he could have a template of it, if he planned on doing this sort of thing often. Time now to see what the fox offered.

"Holy shit...." He whispered under his breath as he admired the shep from afar. All this time living next to him he never realized just how truly hot his neighbor was. He loosened his shirt's collar cause of his heat. Being hot and horny in this temperature would make even the most hardy male squirm beneath the baking sun. The shep turned the mower around and was on the last few rows of grass and got a very good look at his ass. He could only think about the smell of that hole while in his mind he pictured himslef on his knees buried nose deep in that stank male-cunt. Oh that did it....He felt the pressure of his 22cm hardon pressing against his leg and the fabric of his jeans. "Fucking hell Sean...." He whispered. "Why do you have to be sweaty and shirtless!?"

The Shepherd frowned. He guessed that could be considered "atmosphere" at some level, although he could have done without the phrase "stank male-cunt" all the same. Even worse was the complete lack of sensible writing. It made it sound as if the shep was getting a good look at his own ass. Sean shook his head, frowning. Was this what being lonely had reduced him to? He tapped out a reply.

Sean finished the last bit of mowing and shut off the engine. The silence of the suburban neighborhood rushed quickly back into place. Pulling an already-damp rag from his back pocket, he wiped sweat from his muzzle, or at least moved it around a little. When he glanced up, he saw his next-door neighbor on his back porch and offered a friendly wave. He didn't know much about the fox; his name was... something... Michael, Marvin, something with an M. Sad as it was, he guessed it was true: No one really knows who his neighbors are anymore. We make friends thousands of miles away, but we don't even know or talk to who's living right next to us...

Thinking about it, Sean realized that he hadn't really made any observations that belonged in sexual role play, so he added just a bit more.

For all Sean knew, this good-lookin' fox might be available for a romp around the bedroom sometime. No sense looking for lust in all the right places if it's available right next door...

He nodded. Good enough. Send.

During the wait, the Shepherd looked through some items in his files. A few bills due, things that couldn't be put into his bank's auto-pay system for various reasons. Checks and stamps... how twentieth century of him! He glanced at the clock to see that his friend Michael should be back home from work in a few hours... wait, recheck the time zones... no, that was a pretty close estimation, actually. Good. He wanted to ask about a program he'd seen mentioned in a tech journal somewhere; might actually help his web page.

The chime sounded.

Marty inwardly smirked as he waved back to the sexy piece of male meats across the way. He could see the poor thing dying of heat as the sweat was literally pouring off the poor guy. He couldn't stop himself, he yelled out. "You want a nice tall glass of iced tea? It would help...." he smiled. Idiot! he thought, the fuck are you thinking!? You just wanna ride yourself into a sexual stupor on his dick you dont actually care about him! That wasnt true! Marty liked Sean, he was a good male and a hard worker, but he had no idea if the G-shep was gay or not so it would be incredibly awkward if the fox popped a boner right infront of him while talking. He pushed all his homo erotic thoughts aside and waited for Sean to answer.

"Why does porn have to be so badly written?" Sean muttered. Even when it was spontaneous, like in role play, the words shouldn't jangle so badly as to make a fur shake his head until his ears rattled. Apparently, Marty wanted to play the slutty fox in the scenario. It was like nicknaming a stump "Woody" or a boulder "Rocky." Another sigh dripped weightily from the dog's lips. He'd been roped into this... and with that thought came another, to the effect that ropes would not be involved in tonight's efforts. All right, let's see about moving this sex train down the track a little...

Sean chuckled good-naturedly, taking a few steps closer to the chest-high fence between them. "I'd love some, but I'm not sure I'm exactly polite company at the moment." He wiped a paw across his brow, forgetting the soaked cloth stuck into his jeans; he felt his paw taking beads of sweat with it, flicking his paw to dash the liquid to the ground. He grinned, saying, "I probably stink." The Shepherd sniffed the air discreetly, smelling himself, his armpits, even the musk brewing inside his shorts, but there was something else on the air as well... something else spicy, perhaps a little stronger than would be considered polite according to Emily Post, something that had both "fox" and "horny" written on it... nah, couldn't be, his neighbor must be straight... mustn't he? Or was there a chance, just a whiff of a chance...

The dog grinned to himself. The pun was obvious, but it pushed things along. The idea made Sean think of a laxative, perhaps because of the shit involved. Send.

Leaning back in his chair, Sean took stock of his room. It's not like that much had changed over the past many months. It was the "den" of the "one-bedroom-with-den" apartment that he'd rented for a long time now. He hadn't left the place in quite a while, at least not for anything as explicit as a date. Not like he hadn't tried. It was amazing to see just how many dating sites there were out there, even though a lot of them were nothing but black holes for one's hard-earned lucre. ("Join ArfBarkWoof today, absolutely free dating site! Hey, you've created a profile; guys will be sniffing for you right away! Great news: Four guys have sniffed you! Join now to be able to respond, best deal $8.95/month, discreetly billed as $107.40 for twelve months!") Usually, at least three of the four "sniffs" were the site's own bots.

Being reasonably intelligent, Sean was hardly the type to be a gay social butterfly. He wasn't a drinker, nor did today's "music" interest him much, so the bars were out. The gyms and the baths were iffy at best, and he really didn't much care for the wholly anonymous quickie; he'd prefer to exchange names before exchanging fluids.

He thought a little about getting out more, but he had a lot to do during his days, and he had a lot of other things to do during his nights. They were just by-myself things, and it wasn't like he had friends around, knocking on his door, calling his cell to meet for coffee or lunch or something. Oh, he had friends, and like others in the modern age, he had "friends" (as his Muzzlebook and Flitter accounts had assured him), but they were scattered all over the world. The simple truth was that he was lonely. He loved his friends, and he loved his lovers, and they weren't here where they could be together properly. Fur was meant to be touched, eyes gazed into, yelps and huffs and sighs heard directly, and even the advances of the internet hadn't brought scent and taste into the equation.

His reverie was broken by the chime again. Where had fifteen minutes gone?

"Please.... My brother works as a construction worker and comes in and out of the house all the time in a worse state your in, your stink isn't an issue." Marty smiled and motioned for Him to come over. The fox stood up with his plate and glass and took them into the house real quick came back out and waited. It had been a few years since his last boyfriend was killed. Marty pushed that thought out of his mind as he smiled at Shawn. "You don't have to worry about putting on a shirt either, my son is at school so he wont be freaked out."

Sean wondered if Marty's auto-correct was being random, or if the fox simply forgot how to spell his name since the last paragraph. Apparently, going into the house and out again took so little time that the conversation didn't suffer in the least. Oh, and his last boyfriend was killed? This was getting morbid. Maybe there was a way out of this before it got too completely weird.

Sean laughed good-nuturedly as his spirits fell just the slightest bit. "My son," the fox said. Well, gay guys don't have wives, generally speaking, much less kids, so perhaps that little whiff was a mistake of some kind. He tried to shift himself slightly, make his cock stop swelling with the pleasure of his own scent, but he couldn't exactly shove a paw down his shorts with his neighbor looking at him so intently. "If I don't smell like the entire factory yard, then I guess I'll do for now, and cold tea would be just the thing. I'll come round the fence and meet you back there." Good fences make good neighbors, the old poem tells us. The Shepherd padded slowly around the fence's end, somehow worrying that he might get even more sweaty if he walked too quickly. Moving smoothly to the back porch, he found the fox (the rather good-looking fox, he let himself realize) pouring the tea.

Oh dear -- literary references in porn. A clear indication of why Sean was alone. No one wanted an air of academia amid the flesh-pots of fap fiction. Screw it. Send.

Feeling a need in his nether regions that had nothing to do with sexuality, the Shepherd rose from his computer desk, taking a moment to stretch, pop some joints, shift a few back muscles. He padded his way down the hall to the bathroom. Dropping his shorts (not cutoffs, as appeared in the role play, but a comfortable mid-thigh variety that suited him sell enough), he arranged himself on the toilet and tended to the combination of tasks that had sent him there. It amused him to realize that an advantage to living alone was the fact that he never closed his bathroom door anymore unless he wanted to keep steam inside when taking a shower. It would be better anyway, as he could listen for the chime from his computer this way, in case he got engrossed in the cozy mystery he was enjoying in brief visits to Ye Auld Water Closet.

Even as his mind absorbed some new clues provided to the amateur detective of the story in question, another part made a short list of the various books that he always kept around to distract him, inform him, entertain him. Words were important to him; even when running or working out, he would have a "talking book" to listen to. He had gone through the best and worst of literature, discovered things about history, learned things about science and music, even a wonderful set of lectures about the history of the Supreme Court. He felt more connected, more... well, "real" was a good word. His work often isolated him, in so many ways. What he didn't have was a cheat sheet on small talk. Conversations were difficult these days, if only because so many topics were either galvanized or incomprehensible. Where, he wondered, were the minds of others anymore?

Another 17 pages of the paperback took up new residence in his mind when he heard the chime from his workroom. Bookmark placed, he put the book back in the rack near the toilet, and then tended to the necessary tidying-up, if only to avoid having a "stank male-cunt" in real life. Quickly, he returned to see what Marty had offered in response.

Marty pushed his long blonde headfur out of eye and behind his ear when he finished pouring Shawn's tea. He smiled and handed him a glass then took a seat. "So Sean, your yard looks nice..." Not the only thing that looks nice.... he thought "You work so hard, your wife must be one lucky female." Way to be subtle Marty, he thought again. Marty took a sip of his own tea then set it down, eyes never leaving the sexy shep.

Sean blinked, realizing that Marty had not described himself in the role play until now. Did he have long blond headfur in real life? ("Blonde" would be for a vixen, you putz.) The Shepherd thought not, at least not in the pictures he'd seen. Interesting addition. Depending upon how slutty the fox wanted to be, there could be some rough play to be made with long headfur, although Sean would have to rely upon the more violent porn he'd glanced through to give him clues as to what to do. Were he entertaining a lover in his home, the Shepherd would have preferred to take time grooming such headfur, along with a bit of pampering to his lover's body fur and tail. It was part of what made intimacy out of mere lust.

Another issue, he realized, was that Marty apparently knew Sean's name somehow or other, even though it was clear in the Shepherd's earlier mental comments that they hadn't actually met and exchanged names. Too late for that now, he supposed. Clearly, the fox had no interest in continuity or logic, just something to keep one paw occupied. Just go with it, and maybe it will end soon.

Sipping his tea carefully, Sean wondered just how much to risk. He wasn't cagy about his sexuality; he was "out" enough not to hide or fear, but sometimes it's not always wise to tell all of the truth. Tell the truth, but tell it slant -- more words from another poet, and good advice when not sure quite what to reveal. "I'm not married," he said quietly. Smiling quickly, he said, "The house was a steal, maybe a little larger than I really needed at the time, but still a nice size for a single guy." He took another sip of tea, noticing the chilled glass against his digital pads, smelling the lemon and the touch of mint in it (fresh mint, too, not extract), focusing on those scents instead of others that tried to impinge upon his already horny mood. "How about your wife, Marty? You'd mentioned your son, so..."

Another poet? Sean, really. Such good phrases came from poetry, though, and they stuck with him, even if they were only encountered once. Maybe he had too much class for this sort of thing. Maybe he was just being a snob. Send.

Emails were backing up a bit, he noticed. Going through some of them, he realized that things could be just a little quieter if he unsubscribed from a few lists. He was getting duplicates from some of the political and social awareness newsfeeds, especially lately. He was pretty sure he could remember, or find, a quote about cleaning up one's workplace but he didn't want to be bothered with it. It was getting late, and sleep was starting to beckon. The idea surprised him only a little; the biggest problem with role play is that it can take hours to describe what, in real life, could take up merely a very pleasant twenty minutes. Add in a little afterglow, even pillow talk, and one could get back to doing other things in perhaps forty-five minutes instead of five hours, if the participants were merely casual visitors to Cupid's gardens. He was already wondering if Marty had given up and gone to bed.

Chime.

"Oh he was result of a one night stand i had in collage...his mother didn't want him and couldn't take care of him so i took him in. Got him all lined out for collage. Make no mistake, I love him so much i would carve out my own heart if he needed it for a surgery." He said rather aggressively. Okay Marty...he thought, Don't scare him off now. "No idea were his mom is, and honestly i don't really care. If anything happens to me my brother and sister will take care of him." He said sipping his tea again.

He could smell the shep with every sniff, and his cock peeked out of his sheath just a bit and started making a pre-stain in the front of his pants. He loosened his collar further but it wouldn't do any good.

"Hey you mind if i take my shirt off too? It's just so damn hot...its what i get for wearing a tight shirt eh?" he laughed. He let his eyes travel ever so slightly down Shawn's hunky build, focusing on those glistening nipples...he wanted to suck on them while he pounded his cock into his asshole. Oh how wonderful...after you get don talking about your son you go straight to thinking about sex! You're sucha perv....he cursed himself but quickly refocused.

Sean groaned, and not with even the remotest sense of sexual pleasure. Reading a misspelled word in the middle of fap-fiction was like reading a horror writer like Dean Koontz and tripping over a word obviously chosen out a thesaurus, as if Koontz were trying to prove what a good writer is, for being able to use a fancy word in a sentence. It was also the second time he'd left out a word entirely. Maybe he really was typing one-pawed.

He sighed, more in resignation than distaste. No one writing role play is going to be paying sharp attention to anything other than what actually made one's cock stand up, waiting for you to take your bows to the audience and then take your tailhole when you do. Even so, that Marty had been, and was lining up his son for, "sticking pictures on paper" was just a ridiculous error at every level. The grammar and punctuation wasn't any better. He got "don" talking about his son, then moved on to "glistening" nipples... Do they, Sean wondered? Not that he'd ever seen before, but he had to admit to seeing a drop of sweat dripping from one, once upon a time, in a steam room. That, he thought, was a luxuriously good start to some quality erotica... but nothing for this. A fast resolution seemed ideal, although he wasn't at all sure he'd be able to coax one out of the fox.

"He may not have had a glorious beginning, but it sounds like he's done well for himself, if his father's anything to go by." Sean sipped a little more tea before daring to answer the fox's question. "Oh yeah, the shirt, no worries. It's definitely hot out here." And as the fox slowly peeled off the shirt, Sean discovered just exactly how hot it was. Marty's a well-built guy, and his gorgeous fur was about as matted as Sean's own. The fabric of the shirt moved the air around the fox's body, and Sean could smell the spice from under the armpits, a scent that definitely rang the bells in the belfry of his lustful hindbrain. He squirmed in his seat, unsure how he was going to be able to stand up and make a discreet exit with his cock taking up all the spare room in his shorts... and if he weren't careful, it might actually try to peek outside...

The Shepherd paused again, reluctant to add any more. It was the fox's idea to have the role play, so he figured he'd better let him take the lead. He wasn't sure what sort of kinks Marty was into, but scent was obviously one of them. If that was the case, could marking be far behind (you should pardon the pun)? Send.

Sean sighed yet again. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't even want the twenty or forty-five minutes he'd thought about just a little while ago. He wanted someone who liked to cuddle, someone who would talk with him, before and after. He wanted someone to give a little pampering to, someone who could enjoy tender-and-passionate as well as down-and-dirty. The Shepherd gave in to an entirely different fantasy, imagining the long blond hair of a todd who appreciated how well the dog could brush and detangle and smooth such lovely tresses. He imagined caring for the fox's tail in the same way, and for whatever reason, he found himself imagining caring for more than one tail.

He stared into the middle distance, wondering about the stories of Kitsune, wondering if they could be true. What a wonderful thought, that there could actually be magic in the world. Sex could be considered magical, in the right circumstances. There was porn, tawdry one-offs, and role play, but genuine lovemaking was magic, if the partners involved cared to make it so. Perhaps there was a lover somewhere who knew how to make magic, in one way or another. That, he realized gently, was what he wanted. He was an incurable, unrepentant romantic, but he didn't want to alienate his friends by telling them so. His reverie lasted a good ten minutes or more.

Chime.

He peeled the shirt off of himself and shook his hair free. His left nipple was pierced and had a tattoo on his right pectoral of a double threestar being ensnared by lily vines with a red lily blooming above the top point. he threw the shirt near the door and turned back to Shawn. "Thanks, that makes me feel like i did a good job....." Shawn nodded and smiled back. This was taking too long...Marty thought, so he snaked his hand underneath the table to undo his trousers and let his junk hang out. Hopefully that would entice the shep to make the first move, if not, well then, he's probably just going to have to jump on him and rape him.... the smell of arousal was so obvious.

The Shepherd's brows furrowed as his jaw set. Lilies aren't vines, and it's a fucking triskelion, you illiterate ass! No proper use of an ellipsis, no subtlety... yeah, you're right, fox-boy, this is taking too long.

Sean took another sip of iced tea when his nose twitched with a scent that was even more powerful than the mint sprig that almost brushed his whiskers. He smelled sex. He smelled a big walloping infusion of hardcore pheromones that screamed for an impassioned dance of primal urges. And most surprising of all, it wasn't his own scent that he was smelling... although he was aware of a marked increase in his own scent production, as his cock pulsed and twitched in his cutoff shorts.

He looked across the table at the fox, noticing again the slightly dilated pupils, speaking to the idea of predation, or perhaps... "Marty," the Shepherd said slowly, "I feel as though this tea has gone right through me. Perhaps I could come inside to use your bathroom...?" Swallowing, he decided to risk it. "Unless you had a better idea for it..."

You want a little kink? You got it. Send.

Sean threw himself backward in his ergonomic office chair, angry for no particular reason beyond the obvious. He hated bad writing, no matter how or where it manifested. Discovering just how easy it was for someone to mistake wit for dismissal or disparagement, he had reduced himself to using "LOL" in his various bits of electronic correspondence. He wasn't actually "laughing out loud," which is what it had originally meant; the three-letter non-word had become an abbreviated replacement for "I'm just kidding, in case you couldn't tell, because the only other thing I can use to provide inflection of voice in words truncated for the modern, extremely short attention span is something that has become known by the newer non-word 'emoji'."

It wasn't the invitation to watersports that bothered him, either; no "kink-shaming" necessary, and there were kinks far more viscerally disturbing than mere urination, no matter where it ended up going. If he really wanted to test Marty's interest in kinks, there was anything from BDSM to vore to threaten him with. At least tea-into-urine was a barely reasonable plot point. Not, Sean realized that the fox had any need, interest, or desire for anything beyond the word-based equivalent of porn pics.

All at once, the Shepherd had a powerful impulse to cry. In many ways, that made no sense whatsoever; in others, it made all the sense in the world. He glanced at the clock and realized that these perhaps thousand words of bad fap-fic had taken nearly two hours to go back and forth. Michael might be home from work by this time. He opened a separate window in his chat client and left a ping for the wolf, then thought that a cup of tisane would go down very well just about now. Something to relax him. He was hardly pent-up over the sexual content of the words he'd been hurling at the fox who lived across the continent. It hadn't made him horny; it had made him angry. Worse, to his way of thinking, it had made him feel helpless.

Padding into the kitchen, Sean took a look at his selection of teas, realizing that he had his choice of nine, wondering if there were some cabalistic meaning to that number, or if it simply was that he had gotten into a buying spree at the Stash Tea Company's online market. He narrowed his choice to those without caffeine, then down to his two current favorites, Spice Dragon Red Chai or Wild Raspberry Hibiscus. The latter sounded good, and he set the kettle to boiling.

The Shepherd looked around the compact kitchen, resting the base of his spine against the rounded edge of the counter. He caught a distorted view of himself in the burnished chrome of the refrigerator door and considered the reflection. Despite being in a desk job, he had kept himself fit, a good, solid build that reflected well upon his genetic ancestry. He was barely past 30, not so ancient (even in the gay world) that he shouldn't be considered worth a good roll in the hay; he'd had more than one roll in more than one barn, as far back as his high school days. There was a time when having a roll was easy. Hoping for more than that, however, was beginning to feel out of reach. There seemed to be an unwritten rule among young gay males: One to a customer, unless you're a customer, in which case it'll cost you more next time.

He'd made his tea and brought it back to the computer when he heard the chime.

He new exactly what the shep meant, or at least he thought he did. "Well then...perhaps i do have an idea for it..." He placed his hand on Shawns and lead him to the front door, leaving the tea behind. Marty lead Shawn through the now empty house passed the living room and down the hall to one of the master bedrooms. To the right they passed what Shawn got the impression of was Marty's son's room. Sports posters covered the walls along with bands he was probably too old to know about. the faint smell of musky teenager joined the ever so present musk coming from the fox. His dick was painfully pressing against the fabric of his underwear. Marty's bedroom had a king sized bed that was neatly made and a a large dresser with a mirror attached to it. A desk sat in the windowsill with a lot of papers and books about it, but that wasn't what Shawn was interested in.

"You know i feel stupid for not doing this earlier...." Marty said capturing Shawns lips and leading him to the bathroom....

Sean sagged into the office chair, realizing that he couldn't begin to count the errors. Misspellings and grammatical errors were already huge. They were on the back porch, so how did they manage to go through the front door? How many master bedrooms in one house? We've got the fox kit's leftover musk in the picture now? And how is Marty supposed to be in Sean's head, knowing what Sean had an impression of? He didn't want to waste any more time on this than he felt he had to. Distraction seemed like a good plan, something quick.

Sean was nearly overwhelmed with the speed of what was happening, but the phrase "quick as a fox" was just fine with him. Marty had managed to strip himself off so fast that Sean, who only had to remove his shorts, felt like he was holding things up. The bathroom was spacious, with a large "garden-style" tub to one side. Marty indicated the tub eagerly, but Sean held him back for a moment. "C'mere," he said. "I want to smell you close-up before you get covered with my scent too." The Shepherd suited actions to words, nuzzling and sniffing at the fox's neck, getting subtle scents from behind the fox's ears, and down, pausing as the fox generously raised his arm for the dog. Sean shoved his muzzle up against the spicy armpit, licking, tasting, smelling, even as Marty bent the other way, raising the Shepherd's arm and duplicating his actions. Sean's mind raced crazily, the scent pushing every button he had. He wanted it to last, even as he wanted to rush forward. He wanted it all, and the fox seemed willing to give it to him...

Crap. That was "quick"? The Shepherd winced. Even when he tried to be fast, filthy, and fobbing-off his role player, he still had to build the scene, make the sensations as real as he could. He had to give something of himself, even when he knew he'd never get it back. Just another roll, just another hayfield. Send.

He put his face in his forepaws and tried to relax. His tea would be about the right temperature to drink soon, and that would help him relax before sleep. Why, he wondered, why, why, why was it so damned difficult to find someone who wanted to experience even the most rudimentary basics of physical love? Everything was online, the safest and emptiest sex ever invented. Even Huxley's brave new world had sex, and plenty of it, it would seem, albeit heterosexual ("Day plus one equals none," as the 1980 film had it). The internet, in this arena at least, was its own self-created nightmare.

A ping sounded, different from the chime of Marty's role play channel alert sound. Michael was responding.

Michael: Good to hear from you, Sean. You're up late.

Sean: Got roped into an online role play.

Michael: Ropes? Sounds kinky.

Sean: No ropes in the RP, and I don't plan to introduce any. This fox couldn't write his way out of a fill-in-the-circles test.

Michael: OH dear! I thought you wanted to give up RP?

Sean: I do. Don't say it; I know. How did I get caught up in it? Too damned lonely, and something in me thought that the fantasy would do me some good.

Michael: No reality?

Sean: Not lately. Hold on, he finally responded.

"mmmmm You smell so good..." He took a deep sniff again and licked the ripe smelling armpit of it's soaked up sweat, nearly driving himself into a sexual frenzy. His cock pressed up against Shawn's as the two members clashed and shared pre-seminal fluids like two warriors clashing swords covered in each other's blood. Marty snaked his free paw down to Shawn's cock and gripped it pulling the foreskin up and down slowly jacking it. This eruppted a growl out of Shawn who was still face deep in Marty's armpit.

"You want it bad foxy..."

"Not before you mark me..." Licked Shawn's armpit again.

"You're fucking right!" in a flash Shawn captured Marty's lips again and forced him towards the tub. Sweat literally poured off of their bodies as Marty stepped into the tub and knelt down. Shawn's cock bobbed in front of Marty's muzzle as the musk from his swamp balls and ass permeated the air around him.

"You ready you dirty little slut..." Shawn growled. The fox stuck his nose in the shep's balls and gave them a copious amount of licks before traveling up to the base of his cock to the forming Knot, then up the shaft to the tip. He sucked the tip for a bit before letting off and speaking.

"Give me your scent..." he moaned out, then opened his mouth.

Sean stared for what felt like a full minute, horrified. The watersports didn't bother him; the violence did, the violence of language that he simply wouldn't use, not even as a joke. The purpose of sexual role play, usually, was to make one of the parties (preferably, both) paw himself to climax with a personalized tale of fap-fiction, mutually built. For it to work, both parties worked together to create an entertainment that would make sure that, to use the pun, something good came of it. This...

Michael: Sean?

Sean: Sorry. I think somewhat in shock.

Michael: That bad?

Sean: (copy/paste content)

Michael: Yeah, it's that bad. Sean, dear one, how do you get yourself into these situations?

Sean: Because I'm a good furson who doesn't want to hurt others.

Michael: So you let yourself hurt instead.

Another long moment went by as Sean considered the matter. The night lay all too quiet around him, waiting for him to take the measure of his emotions. It wasn't that difficult, really. He'd been considering his situation all evening long, and the later it got, the later it got.

Sean: Can't catch a break.

Michael: Sometimes, you have to make one. You have to put yourself into the position of being the leader of your life.

Sean: ???

Michael: Who do you think you are?

Sean: !!! What's that supposed to mean?

Michael: That fox obviously thinks you're one thing; are you that thing, or are you someone else? Who do YOU think you are?

Sean: You know who I am.

Michael: I think I do, yes. Do you?

Sean: I don't understand.

Michael: Sean, are you role-playing a life, or are you living one?

The Shepherd's forepaws froze in midair as he was about to type What the hell are you talking about. This was an old conversation, but never one put into quite this context. Michael was not some New Age life coach, nor a therapist, but he was a fine and faithful mirror who sometimes reached through that looking glass to provide a proper head-slap. Sean wasn't stupid, but he could on occasion behave so stupidly that one would have thought him cretinous.

Sean: Okay. Why am I doing something that I don't want to do, e.g. this role play?

Michael: I could be mean and ask, "Why do you think?" But you don't need a shrink; you need a friend. If I had to guess, I'd say it was because you're afraid of being thought of badly. You're worried about what others think of you. As a very wise wolf once told me, "Before you worry about what someone else will think of you, ask yourself why you even give a fuck."

Sean: Good advice. Problem is, I'm a freelancer; if I don't care about what others think, I don't get paid.

Michael: Then your work doesn't speak for itself?

Sean: Truth is, no work speaks for itself; it lays there until it is noticed, evaluated, and judged, for good or ill. But I take your meaning. In particular, this fox.

Michael: In particular, anyone who is trying to make you do what you don't want to do. What's actually bad, wrong, inappropriate for you to do. What is it that you want to do?

Sean: I want to make love. I want to have all that the Internet can't give me -- touch, scent, taste, nearness, physical sensations. I want a whole, not just a hole. I want a beginning, middle, and long, lingering end. I want lovemaking to extend to everything, not just sex. I want to be WITH someone, not AT someone.

Michael: Not much I can do from 12,000 kilometers distance. But there's one thing I could do, if you'd like it.

Sean: Not role play, I take it?

Michael: Only if you're pretending that you like to read to me. I've always loved your voice, and that much I can share with you. My appreciation of you.

The Shepherd smiled softly. He had spoken with the Australian-dwelling wolf on a few occasions using the voice function of the chat client. The talks had been rambling, filled with laughter, literary references, puns, the food of the intellect that was no less nourishing to the heart. Sometimes, Sean had found a short story to read while Michael relaxed, a most attentive audience. It had begun because the lonely Shepherd had spoken of how much he loved to pamper a lover, at least in his dreams. He'd not yet found such a male who wanted to share all that Sean had to offer, apart from the body, the genitals, the enthusiasm of the acts of physical love.

Sean: Give me just a few minutes. Get some tea.

Michael: Stereotyping?

Sean: To quote the old comedian -- I got mine; get yours.

Sean let fly with a stream of such force that Marty had trouble keeping up with it. He grabbed the fox by the back of his head and hilted himself almost to the knot to make sure that the struggling vulpine drank every last drop. When he'd finished, he hauled the gasping, coughing fox to his hind paws, spun him around, shoved him hard up against the wall. Sean shoved his piss-slickened cock deep into Marty's tailhole in a single thrust, making the vulpine scream. The Shepherd's hips moved like a fast-spinning cam shaft, pistoning his 30cm cock into the bitch's tailhole so hard that he swore he smelled smoke. With one final, powerful stroke, he shoved in his swelling knot and grunted in triumph as he claimed his prize, his seed marking so deep that the fox could probably taste it. After he launched a gallon of spooge into the cumdump, he pulled out hard, not even letting his knot soften for half a second. The fox collapsed on the floor of the tub, almost passing out, piss dribbling from his mouth like the blood and cum dribbling from his overstretched tailhole.

A cry of surprise caused the Shepherd to turn around. A young fox, perhaps only 15 years old, stood in the doorway to the bathroom, clad only in the pants he'd worn to school, the front of them tenting out with a huge hardon. The Shepherd ripped the pants off of him, raped him on the spot, then threw him bodily atop his father, where the two of them began to lick each other's gaping tailholes while the Shepherd grabbed his cut-off shorts and left, laughing wickedly the whole time. "See you tomorrow," he threatened, leaving their broken bodies behind him.

That ought to do it, Sean thought with the blackest of grim humor. Send.

Sean: I think I got rid of him. No one in his right mind would like what I ended it with, and I ended it long before he was ready. Not likely to hear from him again, and that's fine by me. Got a story for you. Let me get it ready.

Michael: I'll get myself comfy.

The microphone equipment wasn't always plugged in; the cord was a little inconvenient on and around his desk, so he usually kept it to one side. Not many people wanted really to talk; the mistyped chats and partially-coherent texting seemed to be enough for them. He checked the connections -- all was well.

Sean: May I call?

After only a moment's pause, Sean found the notification that Michael was calling him. He grinned and clicked on the button to connect them. "G'day, mate!" he chirped in the artificial tones of someone who had never heard a genuine Australian accent.

A gentle groan was followed by a chuckle from the other side of the world. "Be careful, or I'll retaliate with Valley Girl!"

"Ohmigawd, that would be, like, totally awful, y'kneeow?" Both laughed at their antics for a moment. "I think I know a story that would be perfect for you. It's a little long, but it's got a plot line that should intrigue you. Care for a little mystery tonight?"

"Love some. As you Yanks would say, 'Bring it on'."

Sean rose and found the book of collected short stories on the shelf where it should be, nestled gently amid the F's. As he returned to his chair, he heard a chime that he didn't expect.

"What was that?" Michael asked.

"I'm almost afraid to find out." Sean opened that chat window.

Fucking incredible! I shot off like a fucking fountain! Hook up tomorrow?

Shaking his head, the Shepherd deleted the conversation, dissolved the connection, and closed the window. Turning back to the microphone, he said, with a soft smile, "Are we sitting comfortably?"

"Yes, Daddy," Michael teased.

"Then I'll begin." He opened the book and read. "The Problem of Cell 13, by Jacques Futrelle, published in 1905." He cleared his throat gently. "Practically all those letters remaining in the alphabet after Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen was named were afterward acquired by that gentlefur in the course of a brilliant scientific career, and, being honorably acquired, were tacked on to the other end..."