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Chapter 4 - Life in the Arc

One of the biggest issues I had when I got to New York was finding a job. The only skills I had, being a chimney sweep and a sailor, didn't really give me a lot of options. Even then, I was just too big to do anything as the former but to manage other chimney sweeps, and no one was going to let me manage them in New York. I learned that the laws were different here, and I had no reputation to back up my claims.

Being a sailor was even less helpful. Yes, I could find jobs working on ships, but I didn't want to go back out to sea. I had done my time on that godforsaken vessel and was glad that I had paid my passage off when we finally got to New York. I didn't want to be on the ocean again for a long, long time.

Initially I had been so hungry that I tried stealing, but I found I was not the quick little fox cub that I had been in London. My legs were longer, my shoulders broader, and while I was fast and agile I couldn't hide in things to get away, or curl up to not be seen. Besides, on my first week in New York, I had stolen some bread and nearly got arrested for my troubles. I knew then that I wasn't any good at being a thief.

That left the one thing I knew I could do, and I both enjoyed it and hated it. Honestly, I'm a little embarrassed to be writing this, but I promised myself I would always be honest with the pages. So here we go...

---

During my time spent on the ship, I had been always hurting for coin. I got paid a small amount every time we docked, but it was always a pittance. Everything else I made went toward my "fare" to New York, as well as my room and board aboard the ship while I worked off my debt, thus keeping me there much longer than I initially wanted to. As it was I could barely save anything, and when I needed things like new clothes or medicine that also cut into me funds. So... one day a friend of mine had the answer.

It was twilight as the ship sat moored on some godforsaken dock in the middle of the Caribbean. The Captain was offloading some cargo as well as "contraband," but it was taking much longer than expected, so that meant we were stuck for a few more days at the port. The crew was happy. Well, mostly happy.

I was not.

It had been three years since I had left London. I was a young man, an adult, and constantly wondering if I would ever see New York City. Was Gideon there? Was he dead? I tried not to think of these things at the time. The voice in my head always screamed one word when I started to wonder about the future.

Survive.

I was on the deck of the Paramour, leaning on the railing and looking out over the ocean as the ship rocked lazily in the calm waters of the bay. There were only a handful of us onboard, mostly to keep anyone from trespassing and making off with valuables. Those of us not assigned to ship duty were there because they either had no coin or just preferred to bunk on the ship -- something I seriously doubted no one willingly did. Privacy was not something you had on the ship, and the port offered you all the privacy you could want. Hell, I'd be there if I could afford it.

I suppose I must've looked pathetic, because I heard a friendly voice call me.

"Simon!" the voice said, coming up on my left and grinning down at me. "Eh now, I thought you'd be in town. You ain't got watch t'night."

I looked up at the man. He was the weirdest canine I had ever met. From Australia of all places. A dingo! He was golden almost all over and was sort of like a coyote, but different. He had told us wild stories about his homeland when we were in the galley or working on washing the floors. His name was Sullivan, and he was one of the few people on this damned boat whom I trusted.

"Hey Sully," I said with a grunt and sat back, popping my spine. "Yeah, I would, but you know me, I don't have two pennies to rub together."

"Cap'n still taking so much outta yer pay, eh?" Sullivan said as he turned and hopped up onto the railing, sitting himself down but facing inwards.

"I'm pretty sure I've paid my way three times now. There's no way this trip should cost me that much." Anger started boiling inside me as I felt like time had been stolen from me. "But he won't let me see my ledger."

"You're a good worker, boyo." The dingo looked up at the rigging. "You took to the ropes like it was yer home. Cap'n ain't about to just let you go run off into a city and die. Yer valuable."

"Yeah, well, I'm also annoyed I'm poor as hell. I don't even get the chance to blow my pay in town. I don't go with the others 'cause then I'd just owe them money for the drinks they'd buy me."

"Bein' a sailor ain't the life for everybody. And getting to port and having a grand ol' time is one of the few good things about sailin'. Not being able to enjoy that is a travesty, if I do say so meself."

"Thanks, Sully," I said with a bit of venom in my voice. "I didn't realize how awful it was until now. How do I get by without you." I glared out at the water once again.

"Someone's got that tail of yours all tied up," Sully said, looking to his left and then right. "Say, I may have an idea. It's... a bit weird, but you could make some good money and pay your debt off faster and enjoy the ports if you want."

I looked up at Sullivan with a quizzical, and skeptical, look. If it was so easy, why weren't more men doing it? I didn't say anything and waited for him to continue.

The dingo shifted a little uncomfortably and cleared his throat, his voice dropping down to be much more hushed than it was a moment ago.

"Well... ah, you see boy, your... ah, predisposition to those of the more... manly variety," he said with a blush to his pointed triangle ears. I was about to say something in a panic but he quickly held a hand up. "Ah! Shh! Before you go making a scene and throwing things at me, it ain't a big deal here. It's a ship, with only men aboard. It's also just a quiet rumor a few people have said. Seen you lookin' at a few of us when you're working. No one cares, Simon."

"Liar," I said and stood upright completely. "If it got out I was--"

"So it don't," Sullivan cut me off. "You don't say one thing one way or another. But in this job, you don't need to say anything. You could be down on your luck, enjoy the way it comes and goes with both sexes, it don't matter. What matters is, if you was propositioned, with money, would you say yes...?"

So that was how I learned that, if needed, I had a way to make money. It wasn't something I planned on to depend on, and I honestly don't even today, but it had also started to numb the pain I felt deep down. I had missed Gideon terribly, and I had felt so out of control in my life that finding I could be attractive to other men made me feel better for the first time in a long time. I never wanted anything emotional with them, I don't think I'm ready for that, but for the first time since I left London, I had felt more in control of my own destiny than ever before.

---

The Arc-en-Ciel was a club I had found a couple years after living in New York City. Up until then I had only seen "clubs" like this in London and on some of the islands we visited, but nothing as nice as the Arc. The Tapestry had been pretty, but this place put it to shame.

I don't know how they got away with it. Prostitution was still frowned upon in this city, especially homosexual prostitution, but the owners seemed to know everyone in town. The Arc was in a nice building in Manhattan and looked like a typical business or home from the outside. The only difference for this four story building was that there was usually a man guarding outside in a coat and a tie.

I walked up to the front door and the man, a white wolf with shoulders almost as broad as the sidewalk, looked up from his newspaper. He stood up tall and grinned at me. He wore a nice tailored suit with a crimson bowtie and had these crystal or glass beads woven into his tail. He was one of the owners of the Arc.

"Simon," the hulking wolf said as he came up, embracing me in a huge bear hug. He even lifted me off my feet. "It is good to see you! You have been away too long! Siro is worried about you!"

I laughed a little bit and with my arms pinned to my side I really couldn't return the hug. When I was put down onto my feet, I grinned up at the wolf. "Afternoon, Firo," I said with a tip of my hat, which the big wolf reached up and ruffled and made askew on my head. "Sorry, I hadn't been feeling in the mood to work..."

Firo gave me one of those eyes, a look that could wither plants, but he smiled. "You are very lucky Siro and the family like you. He would not tolerate such... such..." The wolf thought for the right word, but shook his head in defeat. "He wouldn't let a lot of people do that. But you are a friend of the family. Are you working tonight?"

"If Siro'll let me, yes," I said with a wag of my tail. I don't know what it was about these white wolves but they always made me feel good. Maybe that was why I also avoided them. A pang of guilt hit me briefly but I pushed it away.

"Shouldn't be a problem," Firo said, motioning to the door. "Go on in. He is inside. Go see. If you aren't allowed to work, maybe I can buy you drink?"

"Sure, Firo," I said with a nod. "I'd like that." I waved a hand at him and walked up the stoop to the front door. It was wood and glass and unlocked. I opened the door and stepped into a world I would never have imagined had I not been there before.

I've been to a few brothels in my short life, but nothing really looked like the Arc. Its top two floors were open, like a hotel lobby, going up to a stained glass ceiling. If you looked closely, you could see it was a hodgepodge of various images, but it was still beautiful. The bottom floor was very much like a club with a stage, bar, tables and booths to lounge and relax in. Numerous rooms lined the second and third floors for more private sessions. The carpet was plush under my toes and the scent was clean and fresh. Along the pillars and columns climbed plants, twisting and turning around them as if to choke them with their vines. They also wove through the iron latticework of the guardrails above.

In front of me was the reception desk, where I found Siro working. He and his brothers not only owned the club, but they often ran it. Siro loved being a host, and during the still-slow hours of the day, he worked the desk. He said he hated his office. I think he just liked looking at the people coming and going -- which was still almost primarily male, but the Arc serviced people who liked women as well as men.

I had never heard of such a brothel, but then Siro and his brothers were inventive. It probably took a lot of words-of-mouth to keep people from being upset... and however Siro managed it. He just said it was good customer service. He also once told me that a majority of his clients were homosexual, so maybe that was why it worked. People who claimed to be heterosexual decided to come to the club and try out a man, while also knowing they could dive into the bed of a woman if they absolutely needed to.

I don't know. I honestly didn't care. It worked and that was all that mattered.

I walked up to the white wolf sitting on a stool writing something into a leatherbound book. He was small compared to Firo outside, and dressed very differently. He had on a silken royal blue vest edged in gold with matching loincloth, as well as a brighter sky blue sash tied around his waist. His arms were decorated in gold bracelets, and he had a single gold earring in his left ear. He had his wolfish mane long and braided, each one having various colored beads in them. The same types of beads were embedded in his tail as well. When the sun hit him just right, this wolf would explode in color. He loved it. And I had to admit, it was lovely.

"Simon," Siro said when he noticed my presence. He sat up and crossed his arms with a playful smirk. "Was starting to think you fell into a river or something. It's been three weeks since I last heard from you."

I rubbed the back of my head and frowned, looking down at the desk. "I'm sorry. Just haven't felt very... into it."

Siro frowned and tapped his muzzle and then sighed. "You know I'll never be upset at you, but you have to understand, Simon, that you can't just vanish like that on me. You're not only a part-timer here, but you're also a friend! The last thing I want to hear is you having died by the paws of that black fox friend of yours... What's his name?"

"Fiz," I said, looking up finally and into Siro's sky blue eyes.

Siro waved his hand dismissively. "Right. You tell him he's only allowed in here if he promises to not throw knives at the dartboard. He almost gave Andy a heart attack."

"He did promise to not throw knives at the dartboard." Well, Rut had made him promise that, actually, but a promise is a promise nonetheless.

"Or at anybody," Siro corrected, giving me a sideways look. "He was drunk and doing that trick of his with the scarf and his knife... I don't know what it was, but he somehow got a knife lodged into the ceiling." Siro pointed up and, lo and behold, there was a knife stuck in the frame of the skylight. It took a lot of strength for that knife to not have fallen back down already after so many days.

"He'll behave," I promised. "He's a nice guy. Just... a bit weird."

"Simon." Siro came around the desk to stand in front of me. "This is New York City. If he wasn't weird, then I'd tell you to find more adventurous friends. But as the owner of this establishment, I can't have people throwing knives here. He gets one more chance, since he's your friend. And I think he's rather cute."

I smiled a little bit and pulled Siro into a gentle hug. The white wolf was too forgiving. I let him go and looked him over. He had trimmed his fur down and rubbed some kind of oil into it so he sparkled like the night sky when the light caught it, but you couldn't tell unless he did his signature turn -- the one which has charmed many a man who visited this place and made them keep coming back for more. It was really rather fetching. Only someone with white fur could pull it off.

"So," the wolf said, leaning his back on the counter. "You looking to work tonight?"

"Not the whole night... maybe a few hours? I could use the extra money, and the distraction."

"Of course. Let's see..." Siro stepped around the desk and opened up a blue log book. He pulled out a fountain pen and started going through the pages.

I knew Siro was talking. I could see his muzzle moving out of my periphery, but I heard nothing. My head swam and my heart thundered in my chest. I had taken a look around the lobby once more and saw, to my horror, Avery sitting on the guard rail on the second floor. He waved at me when we made eye contact. I had to quickly turn away, closing my eyes in the process.

Siro must have noticed that something was not right. "Simon?" he called, sounding concerned.

"Simon, he's talking to you," that familiar soft voice said. I opened my eyes and saw Avery sitting on a chair against the wall, kicking his feet a little bit. Lord, this was terrifying! I jumped and turned back to Siro, trying to brush it off.

"You don't look so good," the white wolf said. He reached up and chested my temperature with his hand. Then he went for my pulse. "What's wrong?"

"N... Nothing, just having a bad day is all. I promise I'm alright and that I won't do anything to embarrass you or the Arc. Just... Please let me work tonight."

Siro frowned a little bit and shuffled some papers around, thinking about what he should do. Finally he looked up at me. "If you were anyone else, I would say no. But you'd just find some other way to make the money you need and probably not half as safe as it is here. So I'll let you work for a few hours, but I will be checking on you during your shift. If I think you're not up to it... you stop and sleep. Fair?"

I nodded and swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Siro said, motioning me to the back. "Go take a quick shower and get cleaned up. You're in room twenty-seven tonight. I'll try to make sure to get you someone who knows you already."

And like that, I was on the clock.

---

I loved that Siro's club had a shower for the staff. It was even warm. I don't know how he afforded it, but I guess running a brothel was good money. It was just nice to be in a building with indoor plumbing.

I got a nice long shower in and dried off, using the oils that Siro provided all his workers to make our fur look nice and shiny, as well as using the scissors to trim any loose areas. I knew that if I didn't look the part of someone who was well kept, I wouldn't have repeat customers, and honestly, I wasn't in the mood to try someone new. I didn't always enjoy this job, but a familiar and friendly face definitely made it much better.

I had put my clothes away in the closet sprawled out on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Siro knew my regulars and would get me a customer. There was no need to work the club as it were... plus my clothes weren't the cleanest, so I wouldn't really impress anyone. I waited, half dozing on the plush bed, naked as the day I was born.

I also had my eyes closed tightly. I tried my best not to see Avery, who was now sitting on the chair across from the bed, looking bored.

"Simon," he said with a sigh. "You have to talk to me, Simon. You can't just ignore me."

I rolled over and faced the wall, holding a hand over my ear that wasn't pushed into the pillow. I was muttering to myself that this was just a head injury or something, maybe a fever... that this wasn't real and I needed to get it together.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the voice said, standing near the bed. I guess Avery had got done looking at my ass and wanted to try and see my face. I rolled over the other way, putting my back to him. "Stop ignoring me, Simon. I'm not just... just... I'm real, alright?"

I growled and clenched my teeth and quickly sat up, staring at Avery who was only inches from my nose. "Not real?! Then why are you--" I was silenced by a knock at the door. I turned to look at it and then quickly stood up.

"Come in," I called, and then glanced back behind me. Avery was gone. A quick look around the small room said he wasn't in here. I was starting to think I needed to see a doctor.

The door opened and in stepped an otter who had been a customer of mine for a while now. His name was Clint Abernathy, a writer for one of the papers here in New York City. He was a handsome fellow indeed, tall and slender like an otter would be, his fur a rich milk-chocolatey color with a creamy undercoat. He had on a nice black suit with a bow tie and was carrying a briefcase with him. He smiled at me as I approached him.

"I had feared you may not be working anymore, my boy," the older man said as he brought his hand up to cup my cheek and look at me with those brown eyes of his. I didn't stop him, and I actually liked it.

"Sorry Mr. Abernathy," I said with a flick of my ears back and a look away with my eyes. "Life was a bit difficult. I didn't mean to make you worry, sir. I promise if I ever do end this job, I'll let you know." Which was true, I would. Someone just disappearing from your life hurt, believe you me.

"That is neither here nor there," the otter said, a hint of his own English accent creeping through. He was from England, too. But he hadn't been back in almost twenty years. I think he liked me because I reminded him of his homeland. "I am just glad to see you are all right. It was a wonderful surprise to find you working tonight."

"Yes, sir," I said, not sure what else to say, but I smiled nonetheless.

Before another word could be exchanged, Clint pulled me in close, one hand still on my cheek and the other around my naked waist. In an instant our lips were touching and his thicker tongue was sliding into my muzzle. I shivered as the man kissed me, my hands up and holding his biceps. This reaction was always genuine. I did not kiss a lot of people, and Clint always paid a little extra for the liberty.

I felt the familiar fire of need brewing in my belly, and my erection hardened. It usually was not that easy when I worked, but Clint... he knew how to kiss. I moaned softly into his lips, holding on gently as the otter led the way, which had me soon lying with my back on the small bed while he undressed himself, barely breaking the kiss and then only for a flash of an instant when he pulled off his undershirt over his head.

Clint was not like most of my clients. He was after something more, and I wasn't sure I could give it to him, but for these periods of time we spent together, I could definitely give him enough strength to keep pushing on with his life.

With the otter naked and still kissing me, my hands on his back and shoulders as I explored the strong frame hidden under his fur. He was still in good shape, all things considered -- an older man for sure, but he must have found the time to swim often by the way his back felt.

Clint didn't fuck me. No, he made love to me. He was, in fact, the man who taught me the difference between a good rut and a passionate moment in the bedroom. But everything he did with my body was deliberate and gentle. He had applied the lube from the dresser and slid into me without any resistance, and with the fluidity of our bodies mashing together it was like we were meant to be connected.

My knees were up and my ankles were rubbing along the back of his thighs. His muzzle came down on my neck and shoulder, softly kissing and sucking on my throat and my collarbone. I shivered again, bucking hard into him when he found that little sweet spot I had right under my jaw. He had a hand between us, holding me, caressing me as he pumped into me nice and wonderful. I couldn't believe how good it felt and why this man was single. He had a lot to offer someone, but I think he was just scared like a lot of people were. Having a partner complicated a lot of things and ran the risk of them, and you, getting hurt for merely existing.

We tried all sorts of positions: missionary, in his lap, on our sides... It was great. I never said I was too tired or not in the mood. No, when I was with someone like this I felt like me old self again. The crazy thing was that Clint was one of only two clients who actually saw to my own pleasure. He made sure I released just as often as he did, be it with his muzzle, his hand, or some other part of him.

When we were done we were both hot, sticky, sweaty, and content. I lay on my side, legs tangled up with the otter, and our noses touching as we caught our breath. It was getting late but I didn't care much. This was the first time in days when I was tired but content -- and Avery was nowhere to be seen.

Clint excused himself for a shower and then said his goodbyes, much to my disappointment. He said he had an early meeting, but he gave me a nice tip of ten dollars and told me he would be back in a week and I should be working then. I told him I would.

On the bed, I stretched out and sighed after he left. I was so relaxed and satiated that I passed out not even seeing Avery again. The ghost had been there every day, and he was the last thing I'd see before falling asleep. Maybe this was the trick.

I fell asleep not thinking about Avery, Mordecai, or anything else, just the relief and satisfaction that I felt after having sex with someone who treated me like a prince.

And the money didn't hurt, either.