FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Elliot tried to finish his soda slowly, but it was difficult with all the sounds of pounding bass rhythms next door almost strong enough to feel through the floor. The diner was reasonably well soundproofed; if it weren't, chances were good that they'd not be able to stay open during evening hours. As it was, no one complained about the dance club that shared the same warehouse space, and the diner stayed open past the bar's closing in order to give the denizens of the disco a place to continue mingling. After all the dancing and cavorting in the space, replenishing lost calories was probably a very good idea. It might have been planned that way. So far as the young black bear knew, the two establishments were owned by the same company; if not, they were at least chummy. The diner's kitchen had one door (perhaps more) that opened into the club, and a limited amount of "bar food" was available through the club's bar. From a business perspective, the idea of being chummy was working out well.

He looked at the burger and fries left half-finished on his plate. For one of the very few times in his life, the chubby bear wasn't nearly as hungry as he usually was. He felt like he did sometimes back in high school, in those damned gym classes. Always overshadowed, always the butt of the joke, always the last one standing there at choose-up, with each team arguing which one would have to take him. He was a bear, and unless bears were well-suited to exercise and toning, they took on weight. It was what remained of the ancient impulses of non-sapient bears who hibernated through winter. It was a genetic fact that, if the calories aren't burned off, they're stored for the winter (or till Hell froze over). It was all too easy for Elliot to discover that food was a far more consistent source of comfort than his peers, especially all those males in gym class who could eat like trash compactors and still stay lean. It was the worst of vicious cycles: Being fat meant being picked on, so he turned to the only comfort he knew, which kept him fat, which got him picked on...

The bubbles still rising to the surface of his soda captured Elliot's attention, as if they were some modern equivalent of tea leaves. Did anyone still do that, he wondered? It was 2023, after all; had to be something better than that by now. Anyway, it wasn't his future he was looking at. He was still thinking about those guys in the gym. He was wondering if what he was feeling was really real, if that wasn't some kind of grammar impossibility that old Mr. Woodruff would bitch about in a term paper. Even back then, he had the warring emotions of hating the bullies and having a crush on some of them. He thought it was envy, mostly, wanting to have a body that he could feel proud of, because obviously the one he had wasn't good enough for most things. He was lousy at sports, had pretty good grades, never had a relationship with a female, felt awkward too much of the time... the whole "nerd package." He didn't go to prom or any of those other social functions. Couldn't get a date, didn't want a date, needed to find out what it would be like to have a date, afraid of who he wanted to date...

He slurped down the last of his soda and set it aside. The check was settled; he could leave when he pleased, and he knew that he was going to have to do something now or never. It wasn't resolve so much as convincing himself that he was ready to Find Out. That's how it always felt in his mind, something with those initial letters capitalized. Everything he'd read told him it wasn't a big deal, especially "in this day and age," as if everything was okay now, no matter what it was. He supposed it wasn't a big deal to those writing the articles, but it was a big fat honkin' deal to him, and he felt that he had to steel his nerves to make it happen.

Squirming out of the booth, he set his hindpaws firmly on the linoleum and made his way to the diner's restroom, partly to get rid of some excess cola, and partly to get closer to the kitchen. He finished his business in the Necessary and lingered unobtrusively near the SERVERS ONLY door. Most of them were among the tables, clearing off, taking orders, checking for drinks and refills, all the usual. Elliot made himself imagine that he was slim, slinky, unnoticeable, slipping into the door to the kitchen. Cooks were busy tossing, toasting, grilling, chilling, wrapped up in comforting thoughts of getting the freakin' hell out of there when their shifts ended. The young bear crossed a half-dozen meters along a wall and pushed out through the other swinging door, finding himself accosted by noise, lights, thumping music, males all up and down the bar, the end of which was right in front of him. He slipped several meters further into the club, staying near the wall for fear of being spotted as Not Part of the Crowd. That didn't matter now. He was in. He was going to Find Out.

The whole system was ridiculous in this country. He could be drafted into the military when he turned 16. He was allowed to give consent to sex (if he could find someone who wanted him) when he was 17 (in some states, even younger). He could vote at 18. What he couldn't do was be in a bar or buy alcohol until he was 21. It happened all the time anyway, as he'd found out during his freshman year at college, where private dorm parties somehow managed to get the beer to flow, if you knew the right people. He didn't, of course, although he'd tasted beer (once) and wondered why everyone thought it was so good. Getting into the club was forbidden until the magic number had been reached. The big buff Dobie at the door to the club had a job to do, Elliot supposed, so it was best just to avoid him entirely. He wasn't here to drink anyway, just to look... and by the gods, there was so much to look at.

On two walls of the huge open space, an elbow-level shelf provided places for drinks to be set, and any number of simple no-backed barstools were available to sit upon. Some of these were occupied, all by males of various ages, species, sizes. The bar was arrayed on the fourth wall, itself a conspicuously calm oasis in the storm. Further in, a few dozen tables and chairs surrounded the dance floor, which is where the vast majority of the occupants had gathered. Gyrating to the pounding sounds provided by huge speakers in the rafters and equally huge bass units in the corners of the bar, a sea of males surged, swelled, crested, never touching yet seeming to be entirely connected. Flashing lights of every imaginable color moved and swirled around them, sometimes making halos, sometimes shadows, revealing, concealing, constantly changing. The music made them move, made them shift, controlling each body by setting it free.

Elliot felt more than a little whelmed by it all. He moved far enough inside to get away from his conspicuous nearness to the kitchen door, but he stayed at the fringes of the space, just short of using the shelf to support himself on his surprisingly wobbly legs. He blamed the pounding sound, affecting his sense of balance, since he wasn't used to such noise. It had to have been 100 decibels in here; much more, over a prolonged period, would cause hearing loss. He wondered how the others could stand it, but they seemed not to mind. They reveled in it. To use the vernacular, he wasn't feelin' it.

Unsure what it was that he was feeling, the bear began to ask himself what he was doing here. He didn't fit this venue at all. Everywhere he looked, he saw guys who could be models, one kind or another, from the lithe to the muscular, from coats and hides to thick fur, feathers to scales, anything, everything, and perfectly dressed for the night, if they were dressed at all. Some had only shorts or briefs; one tall, hard-lined otter appeared to be wearing only a thong. Dressed in ordinary khaki pants and a polo-style shirt, Elliot felt conspicuous in every way.

He sat on one of the stools, in the furthest corner he could find. The urge to leave was strong, but he had taken so long to build himself up to this night, he made himself stay a little longer. He watched everything at once, looking for something that would tell him... well, that would tell him how this worked. He was fairly sure what was supposed to happen here, but he didn't know just how it happened. Like all males of his age, most of his learning about "it" was through whatever he could figure out how to find on his own. Stories and pictures gave him a wide range of ideas and, again like males of his age, he started looking as soon as his body started changing, and he had to make sense of it. It was time to find out what he was made of, or for, or...

Elliot found himself staring at two guys not that far away from him. The raccoon and the otter were kissing, maws wide, clearly tongues deep in each other, with the 'coon giving the otter's bare ass-cheek an uninhibited fondling. The bear felt different emotions warring for supremacy. He had seen pictures racier than this, but this was happening right here in front of him, in public. He wondered what a kiss like that would be like. Were these two lovers, or had they just met? The 'coon's tail flicked little comments, the lower part of the otter's tail thapped on the floor, the soft tattoo blasted over by the thumping music. After some little time, during which the raccoon's forepaw had moved from the rear to the fore of the otter's body, the object of the fond fondling leaned close to the fondler and spoke directly into his ear. The 'coon grinned broadly, nodded, and the two of them moved toward a door that the bear hadn't noticed before, a door with smooth, tufted fabric tacked on it with decorative studs. (Elliot wondered briefly at his mind's use of a perfectly correct word in a strange circumstance.)

For another ten minutes, the bear watched the crowd in general and that door in particular. Guys went into it, singly or in pairs, and guys would come out, again singly or in pairs. The ones going in seemed quite frisky; the ones coming out looked... well, a variety of emotions there. Some looked tired, some furtive, some disappointed, some bored. No one looked frisky, coming out. Whatever was happening in there...

The bear felt another jolt go through him. No. Couldn't be. That was just fiction wasn't it? How could furs just... The unknowns, the potential troubles (health and otherwise), the anonymity, the absolute separation of sexuality from any but the most base emotions...

Elliot found himself painfully aroused, not having any idea why. Was that what he wanted? The fantasies were one thing; he felt that everyone had some sort of, well, he'd heard it called "fap-fodder," those stories about just-sex that were meant to help you... Imagination helped make it happen, after all, and imagining was all that he had ever done. He wasn't even sure if he wanted, or what he wanted, or if it was all useless anyway. Who would ever...

He felt himself pushing away from his safe space against the wall, moving almost jerkily toward that door. He could look in, just a peek. More ammunition for the next time he wanted to lock-n-unload. It was all he had anyway. He didn't have to, you know, join in or something. Maybe there was somewhere he could just stand against the wall and watch. He gulped. Watching would be enough. More than enough.

At the door, he almost froze, wondering what he was getting himself into. Behind him, another pair of guys was getting closer. He pushed the door inward (it swung both ways, which gave him yet more double entendre) and, forcing up a smile, waved the other two in ahead of him.

"Thanks, big guy," the lean squirrel said to him, tail flicking, forepaw touching Elliot's cheek briefly, offering a smile that could have been anything from seductive to smirking. The bear wasn't sure which made him blush harder. He looked down at his hindpaws and watched them take him a meter or two into a very dark room. His nose registered first, and he couldn't believe the information. It was quieter here than in the bar area, but not quiet enough for anything less than a dull roar or a voice directly into the ear to be heard. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he found a space further in that had no hindpaws other than his, and a wall that he set his butt against before he finally dared to look around himself.

Everything was happening, every act he'd heard about, read about, dreamed of, with clothing simply opened up, pushed away, or even taken off and wrapped around necks. He saw anatomy lessons across several species, confirming his (ahem) research on the internet. Eyes confirmed what the nose had told him when he first entered the room, and the confusion of musk from so many different males did nothing to abate his own tumescence. The bear found himself more than just whelmed as he witnessed so many acts, positions, acrobatics, gymnastics, pretzel-making, and participation in all manner of combinations. He tilted his head, more than once, in several directions, trying to understand just how those two had combined with two others, or the five that seemed to cascade over one another like some kind of living Mobius loop, or simple pairs who kissed while keeping forepaws busy, or...

"See anything you like?"

Elliot nearly jumped out of his fur, although his body stayed rooted to the ground and his slightly bulging eyes stared straight ahead. The voice had indeed been pushed directly into his rounded ear, from a muzzle near enough that breath had accompanied the voice, tickling the hair in the bear's ear. He now felt the physical presence of the furson who had leaned over to speak to him. Moving his body closer, the lean, solidly-formed sergal was well inside the "personal space" that social scientists talked about, but he didn't seem the least concerned about it. He didn't touch the bear, but he was within a few centimeters of it.

"Or do you like all of it?"

The voice wasn't seductive, exactly; more like looking for information. Elliot managed to move his eyes enough to get a better look at his interrogator. The sergal's clothes were casual, but they were clothes rather than the skimpy, near-furclad attire the bear had seen so much of. In the dim light, it was difficult to get an accurate idea of the male's fur colors; like many of his species, it was a contrast of two main colors, one light, one dark. The bear couldn't see too much, which might have been a good thing.

"Perhaps it's a question of what you'd like to try first."

Breathing was more difficult than Elliot remembered it being even a few minutes ago. The sergal was so near that the bear thought that, at any moment, he might feel a tongue beginning to caress his ear (another fantasy idea he had read about), and that thought contained equal parts exhilaration and terror. He felt that he might explode into his shorts from any touch whatsoever.

"Why don't we go somewhere a little quieter? A little more private?"

Elliot couldn't answer, and the sergal continued.

"Like my office. Where you can explain to me why you don't have a wrist band."

The bear's blood turned to ice. He had forgotten that entry required the ID check, an entry fee (on some nights), and the wrist band to show that you were permitted in.

"Just come with me," the voice said as softly as possible in the dark, sweaty room. "I'm going to put an arm around your shoulders. No one will give us a second glance."

The sergal's long, slender yet strong arm wrapped around Elliot's shoulders and guided him back toward that door that swung both ways, back into the noise. The bear had no understanding of how his legs kept moving in spite of everything. He had been found out. He'd broken the rules, hell, maybe he'd broken the law. Would he be arrested? Charged, fined, maybe jail time? His mind, already overloaded in other ways, threatened to go into a complete meltdown.

It felt like half an hour, the long walk through the club. The sergal turned Elliot toward the bar and signaled a mixologist over to him. Giving the bear a friendly-seeming shake, the sergal called out, "Has my friend here ordered any booze tonight?"

Considering, the badger looked Elliot over, shook his head. "Not one of mine. I think I'd remember." Turning to look further down the bar, finding two other purveyors, the badger made several arcane-seeming gestures with his forepaws, then pointed to the bear. One barback shook his head, tapped the other, leaned over to say something; the second looked at Elliot, shook his head also.

"I could test for liquor on his breath," the badger grinned.

"You just want an excuse to give him a snog!" Laughing, the sergal turned the bear away from the bar, heading into another dark corner, another door (BAR PERSONNEL ONLY), into a hallway that seemed a little quieter, another door (MANAGER), into a medium-sized office. On the desk, a nameplate showed the name of "Hank Batista." Behind Elliot, the door closed, bringing a quiet that, for a moment, seemed just as much an assault upon the ears as the pounding music had been.

"Sit down," the sergal said gently, indicating chairs in front of his desk. The bear's wobbly legs got him just far enough for him to plop down into a chair that barely fit him.

The manager moved slowly around to his side of the desk, and Elliot got a better look at him. In the soft light of the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling, the sergal's fur colors appeared to be a brown-black mahogany and a soft yellow sand, with a few highlights of deep gold on eartips and sprinkled into the thick portions of his long tail-tuft. His shirt was a modest, loose-fitting Henley, a dip at the neckline showing a bit more of his thickly-furred chest; his trousers were cargo pants, also modest. The manager's demeanor was calm, quiet, and Elliot feared the fall of a blade on his neck.

"What may I call you, young bear?"

Three attempts ended in squeaks. His cheeks feeling utterly on fire, Elliot gave up and reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out his drivers license and passing it across the desk. The plastic card shook so much that the frightened bear was surprised that it didn't actually make a noise.

Accepting the card gently, the sergal looked it over. "Elliot Fortier," he read aloud. "Ninteen." Nodding slowly, he offered the card back to the bear, who took it with great trepidation. Leaning back in his chair, the manager sighed softly.

"Elliot." His voice was quiet, almost caressing. "We won't get very far, if you're unable to talk with me. What can I do to make you more comfortable?"

His bear's brain was still creating scenarios at a prodigious rate. The office was large enough to have a couch in it, and it was soundproofed; no one would hear him scream. Would he be able to get away from this male? He was taller, a greater reach, might even be stronger. Is that how the sergal intended to take his vengeance?

"Elliot," the manager tried again. "Let me try it this way. Do you know why the drinking age is 21 when, so many years ago now, it was 18?" After a pause, the sergal continued. "Federal funding for roads. Every state was blackmailed into raising the age, based on statistics that showed waiting those three years bestows some magical revelation of how to handle your booze and not drive under the influence. If the state opted to keep the age limit lower, the feds would withhold funds for roads."

The sergal leaned forward, his long, pointed muzzle once again closer to Elliot's face. "Time was when an 18-to-21 year old could come into a bar like this, with a different wrist band, informing the bartenders not to serve him alcohol. Then came the nasty people who tried to find a single exception of someone cheating the system, claimed every bar was 'allowing' or even 'encouraging' under-21 drinking, and the rules changed again. It wasn't law, this time, but insurance companies; they threatened not to cover us if we let in anyone under 21. So you, young bear, aren't supposed to be here because some bunch of loud-mouthed jerk-wads decided they know everyone else's business better than we know our own."

Once more, a deep breath. "You aren't breaking the law, Elliot. There wasn't a cover charge tonight, so you don't even owe me that. The only thing you owe me is an explanation."

Gathering every last ounce of his remaining mental resources, the bear finally managed to ask, hoarsely, "Why?"

"Because you owe it to yourself."

Elliot stared, all of his previous scenarios scattered to the winds. "W-w-what..." He swallowed and tried again. "What... do you mean?"

"I want you to explain to me what made you sneak in here. What led you to the back room. Again, you're not breaking the law, Elliot. In terms of sexuality, you're plenty legal. I just want to know what brought you in here."

Swallowing hard, still shivering, the bear managed, "Had to find out."

"Find out what, Elliot?"

Another strained pause, then, "What it's like...?"

The sergal raised an eyebrow, silently inviting a definition of it.

"Bar," the bear struggled. "Guys. Meeting up." Another swallow, and he collapsed a little in his chair.

"I think I understand. Elliot, I need you to trust me. I'm not sure if you can do that, since you really don't know me. You also don't know anyone else in here, or at least I'm reasonably sure that you don't." Pausing, his head cocked a little to one side, the club manager kept his voice as soft as possible. "Would you have had sex with someone in that back room?"

Elliot's face felt on fire, and he tried to look away from the sergal's gaze; he felt pinned, wishing he could escape, from him, from this place, from everything. Anywhere but here, anything but the truth. But he knows, his mind told him. He knows.

"Would you have had sex with me?"

The bear made choking sounds, his breath ragged.

"I'm not asking you to, Elliot." The sergal leaned back, raising his forepaws as if pushing away the idea. "I'm asking because I think... I imagine that you haven't had sex with someone yet."

Something rose up inside him, breaking through, breaking everything, leaving him utterly exposed and helpless. "Who would want to have sex with a fat bear like me?"

As if confirming the judgment, the club manager nodded slowly. "That's been festering for a long time, hasn't it?"

Tears sprang forth, unbidden, unstoppable. "All those guys in there," Elliot sobbed softly. "All skinny, or muscled, so confident, getting everything they want, and I'm not something they want, no one ever wants me, I don't fit, I don't belong, and there's nothing I'll ever... I won't ever..."

For a long moment, the bear was so wrapped up in himself that he wasn't aware that he was also wrapped up in a warm, strong embrace. The sergal had come from around his desk and now hugged Elliot from behind, his chin on the bear's head. For a moment, he struggled against the embrace, which tightened as the manager shushed softly.

"Let it out, Elliot. Just let it out."

It was an instruction that he could not disobey. He didn't break out in bawling and whining, but he wept, and he shuddered, and he snuffled, and he slowly began to calm himself. The sergal relaxed his hold as the bear himself relaxed, until finally, he had only his forepaws on Elliot's shoulders. At length, he squeezed the shoulders gently and asked, "Would you join me on the couch?" Another squeeze. "To talk, Elliot. To talk."

The bear found enough strength to nod, and the forepaws withdrew. Elliot stood, turned toward the couch, sat down carefully, still eyeing the manager with uncertainty. He had no idea what to do, beyond watching the sergal seeming to flow onto the space on the couch, his body moving smoothly to sit half-turned, his long tail curling gently behind him. He looked at Elliot, smiling, not like a predator, more like a sage.

"We are more alike than you think, Elliot. I will tell you why, if you'll call me Hank."

After a moment of regaining a little courage, the bear asked, "Why are we alike, Hank?"

Warming further, the sergal's smile seem to take up his entire muzzle. "I was a virgin until a month before my 20th birthday."

Elliot found his jaw dropping almost involuntarily.

Like a distorted echo, Hank said, "Who would want a skinny, awkward guy like me?"

"But you aren't--"

"Oh, but I was. That infamous 'growth spurt' happened belatedly suddenly, when I was about 15, and it wasn't long before I broke the two-meter mark. I'd have been great at basketball, if I'd had any real control over my limbs. I could palm the ball and, if I could keep hold of it, I might even have a chance to throw it; aiming for the basket needed calculations from NASA, and dribbling... fuhgeddaboudit."

The laugh sounded more like a giggle, which brought back Elliot's insecurity, but the sergal... but Hank took it in stride.

"Another thing that took me a while was finding someone who wanted to take a chance on me. Sergals do have a reputation, not well-deserved, but out there. Teeth, among other things." Hank offered a particularly wide closed-maw grin that showed off his impressive dental architecture, then he chuckled. "I wasn't at all popular, for a while."

"What..." Elliot began. In the pause, the sergal nodded, and the bear found his voice again. "What changed?"

"I found someone who looked past my body, for one thing. For another, he was about fifteen years older, sure of himself, caring, understanding." The smile was soft and very warm indeed. "Perhaps something else we may have in common, although I won't press the issue."

Elliot felt another breaking in his chest. "Is that just pity?" His voice was quiet, but it still held fear, hurt.

Hank shook his head. "It wasn't pity on his part, nor on mine. He was a large male, a bovine with a bit of belly on him, someone I might not have considered attractive, in my prejudicial youth. He showed me something that I'd not thought of before. In a way, he spoiled me, because I gave him my virginity, and he taught me sexual secrets I hadn't considered." He looked into Elliot's eyes again. "Think of that back room. What would you have wanted to try? Who with?"

"I..." The bear gulped. "I don't know. How would I ask? How would I know? And who would want..." He cut off the rest, letting previous words stay where they were.

Hank nodded. "I had my fantasies, and I found plenty of porn, from one source or another. I could only imagine how good it would have to be." Another gentle smile. "I bet you know that feeling, huh?"

"Yeah." Elliot still blushed, but he didn't feel as embarrassed as before. He didn't know why not, but he didn't. In the lull, the bear finally managed, "Hank, what did he teach you? Did he, erm... do things to you?"

"After a few meetings, yes, and I returned the favor."

Blinking, Elliot asked, "You didn't... when you met?"

"Nope. And yes, it surprised me, too. I was ready for something to happen, believe me. We met up in... well, I guess 'adult book store' is close enough to the mark. I was old enough to be in there legally; as for experience, I was way too embarrassed to pass for anything but a scared yowen. I had to show my license at the door. I would get nervous, wondering if any of the guys there would want to hook up, even if that was what I wanted. I still thought I was way too gangly. Who'd want me, really?

"Well, this bull, I'd seen him there maybe twice before, didn't pay much attention to him, and he didn't pay much attention to me, either, or so I thought. That day, though, he caught my eye and nodded at me. I thought I'd suddenly been given some secret signal or something, so I nodded back. There's no one who teaches you about this stuff, is there?"

Hank lowered his head, looked at his forepaws in his lap. "He moved close to me, looked at the magazine I was glancing through -- some bunch of muscle-studs posing and doing some exercises, so to speak -- and he starts asking questions about it, did I like this one or that one, favorite positions... and I couldn't answer him. I didn't want to appear stupid or, worse, inexperienced... but this was the first guy who ever approached me, ya know? And then he said, 'I know a place we can go to, real close to here. Wanna go?' Like I was gonna say 'no,' after all that time? I wanted to know. I had to find out."

Elliot nodded.

The sergal looked up, a wry, self-deprecating grin on his elongated muzzle. "He took me to a coffeehouse down the block. I thought he was going to take me into the males' room or something. Instead, he bought coffees for both of us. My first sweet latte ever, so I guess he took that virginity, too. He found a small corner booth, and I thought it was gonna get really kinky." Hank snorted, and Elliot felt himself blushing again. "What he did was talk, like I'm doing with you here. And he gave me his phone number, and we saw each other again, and things happened, and he taught me a lot."

"You mean... you and he..."

The sergal smiled softly. "At his home, after our second dinner date. In some ways, I guess that's quick to jump into the sexual side of things, but maybe not. He knew that I was inexperienced, that I wanted..."

"Wanted to know," the bear finished.

"And he wanted me to be safe in my discovery." The look in Hank's hazel eyes was warm beyond measure. "I wish we all had the chance to be mentored so well."

For a long moment, the club manager didn't speak. Elliot wasn't sure what to do. The room wasn't silent; some small bit of the pulsing bass beats of the music from the dance floor filtered in. It was quiet enough, however. The bear sensed, perhaps even heard, the thudding of his own heart. He felt that he should say something, but he didn't know what to say.

"Well, then, Elliot," the sergal said at last. "What shall we do about you?"

The bear swallowed with an audible gulp. "Are you going to... Do you want to..."

"I didn't tell you all this to manipulate you. That would hurt both of us." The sergal offered a forepaw, and Elliot found himself taking it into his own. "I told you all this to offer you a chance to talk. Not now, not tonight. I want to give you my phone number, let you think it over, call me for a lunch or dinner, or just a park bench, somewhere we can talk."

Something in the bear's chest broke and ran cold. Talk. Just talk. He shouldn't have hoped for more. He wasn't cute enough, hot enough, desirable enough. He just wasn't good enough.

"Don't do that to yourself."

Elliot blinked. He felt the sergal's forepaw squeeze his own.

"There is nothing wrong with you, Elliot. Don't hate yourself like that."

"You don't want..."

"...to take advantage of you. You're vulnerable, like I was. You're needful, like I was. That's what I saw in you when I noticed you in the bar. I felt a kindred spirit, from those years ago." The sergal paused, then plunged in again. "Elliot, the truth is that I do want you, for so many reasons. It is for so many more reasons that I'm stopping myself."

The bear found his jaw dropped with disbelief. "How could you want...?"

"Maybe I like big cuddly guys." Hank's smile was soft, as he raised his long muzzle to look into Elliot's eyes again. "That bull, Jackson, he was big and cuddly and very warm. And yeah, maybe I'm doing that pay-it-forward thing as well." The sergal regained some of his seriousness again. "There's something I have to say here; please don't think I'm being a hard-ass. In my capacity as the club manager, I have to ask that you not try sneaking in again. At the least, I'm not here every night, and sometimes, Angel gets a little over-enthusiastic about protecting the front door."

"Angel?"

"Angelo, but he goes by Angel. The bouncer? The big Dobie?"

Elliot found himself laughing at the name.

"I'll have a word with him not to get rough with you. If you come back to see me, show him your ID; if I'm in, he'll get word to me and have you wait at the side door. I'll come get you. Otherwise, we can meet somewhere else." He squeezed the bear's forepaw. "I really hope you'll call."

Nodding slowly, Elliot said, "I'd like to. Hank," he added, like an afterthought.

The smile widened, and the sergal rose, inviting the bear to join him. "Let me show you that side door. Oh, and this." He reached over to his desk, finding a small stack of business cards and passing one to Elliot. "Keep this a secret: The decision tree doesn't offer option 6. Press that, however, and it will connect to my cell. The number will show up on my phone as the club's number, so you won't even be giving me your number yet."

"Don't you want...?"

"Again, not tonight. You need to give yourself time to calm down from all this, think it over, see how it feels." Hank guided the bear toward the door. "There is time, Elliot. You don't have to discover everything at once. I'm going to take one liberty with you, since I took it once already."

Leaning close, the tall, lean sergal wrapped his arms warmly around the bear and hugged him, his chin atop the younger male's head. It took only a second for Elliot to bring up his arms and pull Hank even closer to him. They pressed chest to chest, the bear's round belly pressing against the sergal's flat abdomen. The younger male's nose pointed slightly upward, enveloped by sandy-colored chest fluff that peeked out of the low-cut Henley, and he found himself taking special note of the scent, the warmth, the texture of the fur.

Slowly, they separated, Elliot's muzzle still pointing upward, waiting for a kiss. He felt that there should be one, and it felt strange to him that Hank hadn't kissed him. Did he not want to, or... Wait, he felt some calmer self whispering to him. Not tonight. Not yet. Hold on to that word. Yet. Not yet.

The sergal smiled at him and nodded, as if reading the bear's thoughts. "Go home and rest, Elliot. See how you feel tomorrow. Call when you're ready."

I'm ready now! he wanted to scream, and he made himself breathe, and smile, and nod once. "Thank you." He hesitated, then asked, "Is your name really Hank?"

Chuckling, the club manager shook his head a little. "Most of the furs in a business like this one would think 'Enrique' would be pretentious, so 'Hank' is an unreasonable facsimile."

"I think Enrique will get a call tomorrow."

"He will look forward to it."

Later on that night, Elliot remembered the hallway, the side door, the tender clasp of Enrique's forepaw in his, the passage down the well-lit alleyway, getting to his car, the drive home... It wasn't dreamlike, nor gauzy, nor magical. He knew enough to get himself back to his apartment, to avoid talking to either of his roommates, just to close himself in his room, to put the card where he knew he would find it in the morning, and get into bed, to dream of what a sweet latte might taste like, what anything might be like, with the right company...