FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Alone at last

Harry watched the final taxi pull away from the curb, headed for the airport, and let the curtain drop back into place, blocking out the gray, winter day. His huge ears swiveled back and forth, taking in the silence of the big house, only the sleepy rumble of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the ticking of the clock in the den breaking the perfect quiet.

He made a beeline for the thermostat, cranking it up to a comfortable eighty-two degrees, Micah's rules be damned. Micah was a timber wolf from Canada with a fur coat thicker than any sweater Harry owned. Of course_he_was comfortable at sixty-eight, while Harry was huddled under a blanket in his room, freezing his tail off. Had no one ever told the wolf, fennecs were_desert_foxes? He stood over the heating register in the hallway, a sigh of contentment escaping him as the hot air caressed his dainty white footpaws.

With the temperature sorted, he scampered upstairs to his room, his heart starting to race as he opened his closet door and shoved his hanging shirts aside. On the floor in the back sat a plain, brown suitcase. Harry's paws trembled a little as he pulled it out and set it on his bed. It had been so long. Almost reverently, he released one catch, then the other, and slowly opened the case.

It wasn't like he hated living with four roommates. It was better than living in the dorms or some noisy frat house, but there was very little expectation of privacy. Somebody was always poking his head into Harry's room to ask him something, or borrow something, or just to say hello. Harry didn't mind that, really, but it was so exciting to have the whole house to himself for three whole weeks.

His roomies were all headed home for the holidays, except for Carlton, an otter who was going to California to see his girlfriend. Normally, Harry would have been doing the same, but his folks were in North Africa this month, visiting his father's uncle, the last member of the family actually born in their ancestral homeland. Apparently, his health wasn't too good and his dad wanted to see him one more time. Harry had wanted to go with them, but he couldn't afford to miss that many days of class, and a plane ticket to Morocco was crazy expensive.

And, he plans of his own.

Inside the suitcase were two shoe boxes, both sealed with tape and tied shut with twine. One at a time, he put them on his dresser, then closed the case and slid it under his bed. Grabbing his pocket knife, he cut the twine and sliced through the tape. Finally.

Taking a steadying breath, he held it as he opened the first box, his heart leaping as the light fell across the bright blue silk and delicate black lace. So beautiful. He lifted the camisole up by the lace straps and brought it to his muzzle, breathing in the faded scent of musk and jasmine as he rubbed his cheek on the cool, slippery material, refreshing his scent upon the slinky top. Setting it aside, he pulled out a matching pair of panties, black silk stockings, and dark blue lace garters.

Finally, in the bottom of the box was his favorite item; a pair of metallic, sapphire blue high heels. He'd saved for six months to afford them, and agonized for weeks over whether or not to buy them, and panicked no less than four times when he thought his parents might get the delivery before he could. Taking one out, he hugged it to his chest, an embarrassing little giggle of joy escaping him. At least there was no one in the house to hear.

Not one to squander a single moment, Harry stripped down to his birthday suit, taking a moment to run a brush through his sandy gold fur and fluff his luxurious tail. He wasn't excessively vain, but he did like the way he looked, especially when dressed up.

Sliding into his panties, he ran an appreciative paw over the material, savoring the textures, the rough lace and the smooth silk, so different and yet such a perfect combination. His paw lingered on the bulge in front, feeling his sheath swell as his cock hardened. Not yet. There would be time enough for that later.

He slipped the camisole over his head, his back arching and a low groan of pleasure escaping him as the cool silk brushed over his nipples, caressing his sleek fur and clinging to his lithe and slender body. In moments like this, he didn't care if guys teased him for being small and scrawny. He was a fennec fox; his kind were naturally petite, and he loved every delicate inch of himself.

The black silk stockings were next and took the most time and care. The last thing he needed was to snag them on his claws. Finally, he drew the top of each stocking up to mid-thigh and secured them in place with the elastic lace garters. He'd tried garter belts before, but the straps gave him too much trouble, and these lacy elastic bands did the trick just fine. With a delicious shiver of anticipation, Harry picked up his shoes and slipped them on his footpaws. He stood and took a hesitant, wobbly step. It had been a long time since he'd worn them.

Crossing the bedroom, his steps grew more sure as his confidence rose. It was like riding a bicycle. He went to his closet and closed the door, revealing a full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door. Stepping back, he considered the sexy creature looking back at him, clad in fine silk and lace, hard as a rock inside his sheath, his package clearly defined and lovingly held within his panties. Beautiful, but not quite perfect.

Returning to his dresser, he opened the second shoe box, this one smaller and filled with compacts of eye shadow, tubes of lipstick, bottles of claw polish and perfume. The scents that wafted up out of the box were heady and intoxicating. Harry was nearly salivating as he pulled out a carved crystal bottle of jasmine and sandalwood perfume, applying a liberal spritz to his throat and tail. He set it aside and went for the makeup. He might paint his claws later, after this particular itch was scratched, but right now, he didn't have the patience.

Stepping over to the mirror, he uncapped his lipstick and raised the tube to his lips, but stopped. It was too dark to really see what he was doing, and he didn't want to get the creamy pigment in his fur or his teeth. The overhead light was pathetic, some low-watt, energy saving piece of shit Micah insisted on, and was next to useless, so he reached over and pushed back the heavy curtains that covered his window. It faced the street, but this early in the morning in a college town, folks were either hungover or already on an airplane. Nobody would look up at his window, let alone see him.

And yet, the thought of being seen, of having someone_see_ him, the real him, filled him with a secret thrill. He would never do something stupid, like stand on the porch in his negligee, of course--he had no interest in facing the fallout that could bring--but a glimpse in a window could be denied or explained away, if needed.

At the mirror, he carefully applied the creamy lipstick, his naturally black lips making it hard to wear lighter pinks and lavenders, but he preferred dark colors anyway. Blue was his favorite, especially this iridescent cobalt with hints of green and purple. Setting the tube on the dresser, he grabbed his eye shadow, brushing the silky fur around his eyes with a shimmery gold a few shades darker than his natural furtone. Just on his eyelids, he dusted on a blue that matched his lipstick, and then lined his large brown eyes with a soft black kohl pencil, adding a few faint false eyelash lines under his bottom lids. He didn't need mascara or anything like that--originating in a desert environment has its perks, and long, thick, dark eyelashes were one of them--but the eyeliner gave him that Egyptian flair that suited his ancestry.

His hips and tail swaying from side to side, Harry backed away from the mirror, his cock aching as his reflection made eyes at him, blue lips pursed in a sultry kiss. Keeping his gaze on the mirror, he turned a slow circle, looking over his shoulder at his tight ass and fluffy tail. He bent forward, back arched and ears quivering, his paws wandering down his chest, over his belly, sliding closer and closer to his aching cock.

Out on the street, a car door slammed and Harry jumped. Laughing at himself, he glanced out the window as a yellow taxi pulled away from the curb. His heart stopped and he threw himself at the window, looking down at the front walk as Ethan, a handsome buck on a baseball scholarship, swaggered up the sidewalk to the porch, a suitcase in one hand and his oversized gym bag slung over his shoulder.

"Oh, fuck," Harry whispered, scrambling back from the window as the buck glanced up at the house. He didn't see anything. He couldn't have seen anything. Harry rushed across the room and closed his bedroom door, leaning back against the wood and closing his eyes, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. His big ears caught the sound of the front door being unlocked and a surge of adrenaline flooded his body. He stripped off his shoes, garters, stockings, and panties, stuffing them into the empty box as fast as he could.

"Hey, Harry, it's just me!" Ethan called from downstairs. "Sorry to mess up your plans, but my flight got canceled. A big Nor'easter blew up all of a sudden and every airport in New England is shut down. They got me rescheduled for Thursday, but that's only if the weather clears."

"Sorry to hear that, man," Harry said through the door, and he pulled off his camisole, the lace catching on his big ears.

"I bet you are," Ethan said with what sounded like a chuckle. "Don't worry about me, I'll go watch some TV in the den with the volume up real loud, so you keep doing what you're doing. Let me know when you're done and I'll fix you two some breakfast. Does she like pancakes?"

"She? Who--what? Pancakes?" he repeated as he shoved everything into his suitcase and slid it back under his bed. His heart pounding, he glanced in the mirror, his eyes wild and terrified. And still covered in makeup.

"Never mind, we'll talk later," Ethan called. "Going to the den."

Harry stood for a moment, his slender pink tongue hanging out as he panted, his ears swiveling back and forth as he tried to figure out what was going on.Does she like pancakes?

"Oh, shit, he thinks I'm with a girl," Harry hissed between his teeth. Not the worst assumption, though it couldn't have been much farther from the truth. "Oh, what do I do, what do I do?" First, wash off the makeup and perfume, then worry about Ethan. That seemed the best course of action. He grabbed a T-shirt, jeans, and boxers, and cracked open his door. The distant noise of the television washed into the room, and Harry took a chance that Ethan was really doing what he said he was doing. He pulled the door open and fled down the hall to the bathroom, locking himself inside and tossing his clothes onto the counter.

A thorough shower later, he had managed to calm himself down. Dry and dressed in his normal clothes, he just had one final hurdle before he could call himself safe. How do you get rid of a girl that doesn't exist?