Adapt
#7 of Cherry
This was for a writing challenge in a Telegram group I joined (link here if you're interested: https://t.me/joinchat/CPoeZhclggenrOEh0yYwvg). In under a thousand words, we would write a short story fitting a chosen theme. The new theme is, "Change is inevitable. We might not like it, but we have to adapt when it happens."
This is another sequel to my Cherry series, and takes place directly after "Ability to Kill" and "Ability to Love" respectively. This time for Cherry, I thought I'd focus on our sweet ocelot for once and give him some depth. Enjoy!
As an inner-city prostitute, adaptability was required in order to survive. I needed to know exit points in a building, calculate rates and have control over location, but it wasn't always that simple. Routine, though comfortable and welcoming, could never be found with every single john I serviced, which was why I felt conflicted after Markus invited me to live at his place until the heat died down.
It was early morning, and we were together in bed. Cuddling into his chiseled chest, allowing myself to become lost in his musk and warmth, I did everything in my power to erase certain images from my mind:
Gunshots.
Shattering glass.
And the terror I felt for the first time since I left home.
Markus told me the shooters were, in his own words, 'taken care of', but the mastermind of my attempted murder was still out there. When he asked if I knew anyone who'd want to kill me, I didn't have any reasonable answers.
"Many of my clients have secrets," I explained to him before we each fell asleep, "but I don't remember them telling me anything that's worth...killing me over."
"Hmmm, we'll have to do some digging then," he whispered. "But for some clients, even being connected to people....like us, it's probably a reason worth murdering over. I've seen others kill for less..."
"Damn..." I shivered into him further.
"I told you I'd protect you," the wolf growled lowly before nosing my cheek. "We will find whoever shot us tonight, but for now, sleep. Good night...Charles."
It felt like ages ago since someone called me by that name.
"You...You can still call me," I cleared my throat, "Cherry, if you want. W-When I told you my name, I didn't say...you had to..." Snoring rumbled from his throat, causing my crestfallen ears to perk. Sighing, I murmured, "Good night..."
That earlier look in his eyes scared me. He didn't know what to do. It was the same kind of uncertain, lost terror that reminded me of my first night on the streets, after Dad kicked me out for being a 'fag whore'. I didn't know where to go or anything. I didn't know if I'd be mugged or beaten around one street corner or another, or how I'd survive without any money.
Luckily for me, I had experience with johns (and discreet teachers) in high school, and there was always a semi-straight, bi-curious male out there looking to fuck a feminine ocelot. It certainly helped with groceries whenever my brothers were low on cash and Dad on beer.
I thought back to my first john: Coach Grumman. I'd been curious about men for years, and the perverted old rhino took advantage of it when he caught me peeking at his players as they changed during gym class. One day, he asked me into his closed office after class and offered me five ten-dollar bills to strip down. I complied with his wishes.
Walking back that night, limping and still tasting semen in my maw, I clutched those bills in my pocket while thinking back to what I let him do. I was fifteen and he was in his late forties. The rhino was married, had kids, and I let him fuck me right on his desk. Granted, I could buy some new clothes, but the new sensation I felt that night changed me in a way.
Was the coach my attempted murderer?
No, it didn't make sense. I wasn't the kid that got him caught. The perverted bastard must've been giddy and thought the same offer would work twice on different students.
Another familiar muzzle came to mind: Kendal Osbourne. When I was a junior and he a senior, the stallion loved to have me suck his horse cock an hour before each game he played. From what I could recall, he planned on getting a scholarship and going pro, but rumors suddenly circulated about him being a faggot after his cheerleader girlfriend walked in on us. Afterward, we only saw each other when passing in the hallway.
Was it Kendal who hired those thugs? Maybe, but I'd have to run it by Markus for review.
This racked my brain for an hour two late into the morning. Why did I have to sleep around with so many people, some of whom used me for their forbidden pleasures? I didn't expect this to happen. I knew the dangers that came with prostitution, but I only saw it as a means to pay the bills. Johns would line up to spend their hard-earned money whenever I flashed my ass or wore slutty clothes.
I didn't have any other option in my chaotic home! Dad worked only when some office building needed to be built, Dennis was in jail for larceny and my oldest brother worked his tail off with two crappy jobs at a McLarnald's and a Burger Queen. Between these measly payments, I couldn't afford shampoo let alone pay the electric bill. And with Dad's unpredictable mood swings, I always had to adapt with whatever was sent my way, like being beaten, screamed at, belittled at or...or...
...or thrown out of the house (after being caught with a john in my room).
With nothing but the clothes on my back and a high school diploma I earned weeks earlier, I walked all the way from my run-down suburban home all the way to downtown. The immediate change definitely shook me, but I willed myself to remain calm enough to try and find a client, which was difficult this late at night. Low and behold, I made enough cash to rent a motel room, the same one now filled with bullet holes.
Markus snorted loudly into my ears. I could feel his arms pull me closer into his nave, like a vice. A small smile slowly formed across my muzzle, and I curled my tail closely to our entwined bodies. This wasn't too bad of a change, for either of us.