Confidence by K.M. Hirosaki

Confidence

K.M. Hirosaki, Drama, Fox, Husky, M/M, Psychological, Raccoon, Rough, Wolf

"Confidence"

I take a look in my wallet. All I've got is a ten. At places like this, even coffee is, like, three bucks. I don't know why the hell coffee got so fucking expensive all of a sudden. Supply and demand, I guess.

For close to a minute, I hang back, pretending to look at the menu while I'm really just debating whether it's really worth blowing a third of my money on a drink here, but then I remember that I've got an image I need to keep up, so I suck it up and deal. I order myself a white mocha, since if I'm going to be forced to buy something, it might as well be something I like. I ask for it extra-hot, though, just to make sure I don't drink it too fast. The barista, this fagged-out coyote with a ladder of piercings down his right ear, gives me this look like I've just offended his delicate sense of artistry, but he doesn't say anything. Whatever. You don't need to be a rocket scientist to make me a cup of coffee, asshole.

The little area where people stand to wait for their order would comfortably fit about three people, and of course there are already five people standing there. Instead, I just sit on the back of one of the couches. There's some fox already sitting in it, but I'm light and small enough that I probably don't even make the sofa jostle when I sit against it. He's polite enough to not look up, but then, he's also reading a book. Maybe he's just too distracted to notice. Either way.

From behind his fancy espresso-making machine, the coyote barista gives me another look, but this time, I think he's sizing me up. I'm sure he's thinking something like, "I wonder if that little raccoon sitting on the back of that couch would suck my dick." I bet he'd suck mine. Which is kind of sick, since I look like I'm all of sixteen, done up as I am now.

By the end of the night, I'm sure as hell going to be sucking someone's dick, but not this guy's. My interaction with him ends when I pick up my mocha.

After what feels like twenty fucking minutes (but which is probably really only something like five), said white mocha finally ends up on the bar. I pick it up, and the coyote doesn't even bother to offer a token, "Have a nice day." It's just as well, since if he did, I might just be liable to punch him. My patience is kind of thin right now.

With my coffee in hand, I saunter over to one of the cushy-looking chairs over in the front corner. I sit my ass down in it, curl my tail aside, and take a sip. Okay, so the coyote might be a dick, but he makes decent coffee. I guess that makes us even.

I sit back with my legs stretched out, letting my too-tight jeans hug my slender legs. I make it look nonchalant, which is easier to do since I know that I look underage and folks might just assume I don't know any better. Now, I just sit there and watch the line of people as customers filter in and out of the shop, and I take tiny, tiny sips of coffee. It really is nice and hot, which probably just adds to the effect.

A few times, I catch people glancing in my direction, their stares lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Most of them don't give me a second look; some of them do. None of them are 'right,' though: there's the bear who's dressed like a trucker, there's the wolf who looks like he's in high school, and then there's the vixen with the gaudy hat who sneers at me like I'm doing something terribly indecent. Oh, lady, if you only knew.

Finally, I see exactly what I'm looking for: a cinnamon-furred husky, late twenties or early thirties, looking like he just got off work, where he's probably a tech support guy or a sys admin or some I.T. shit like that. All he does is just look at me, and suddenly his eyes just fill up with guilt for no reason. Bingo.

I squeeze the cardboard cup, causing the plastic top to dislodge as a small splash of coffee leaps out and coats the back of my paw. I let out this girly little yelp, because it's legitimately hotter than I'd been expecting, and I shift the cup to my other hand as I quickly start to lick my fur clean.

My eyes flick up. Husky's watching me. Oh, fucking jackpot.

Of course, he immediately breaks off his gaze and goes back to waiting for his drink, making sure to keep his back to me the whole time. Yeah, that's it, you creepy little perv. Just pretend that you weren't looking. Who knows, if you tell yourself that enough, maybe even you'll believe it.

When the coyote puts his coffee up, the husky takes it and makes a beeline right for the door. I wait until he's outside before I get out of my chair and take off after him, stopping only to set the lid back on my mocha. In the parking lot, I catch up to him just as he's reaching the door of his sporty little sedan.

"Hey, mister, wait up!" I call out.

He looks up and almost drops his coffee. God, I've scared the shit out of him. That's awesome. He recovers admirably, though. "Er, yes, can I help you?"

I nod, making a show out of panting, tugging out my tight little t-shirt with my free paw. "Can I get a ride?" I ask. He looks at me like I've got three heads. "Like, just to the light rail station."

The dog looks me over, and this time, he's honestly confused and not just checking me out. "Do I know you?" he asks, tilting his head to one side. He's actually kind of cute.

I shake my head, though. "No," I reply. "I just... I just need a ride to the light rail station. I lost my bus pass." He looks at me and considers whether or not I'm bullshitting. He searches my eyes for whatever ulterior motive I have. I just play innocent. Looking young helps.

After that, he looks me over in a different way, considering whether or not I'm a threat. He's bigger than me, and it is broad daylight, but maybe I'll pull out a knife or something once he gets me in the car. Then again, he's the one driving, so he can stay out in the open if he's afraid I'm gonna pull something like that. I can see him weighing all of these options as he scopes me out.

"Light rail station, huh?" he asks. "What, the one downtown?" He's going to give me the ride, now, I can tell. I nod in the affirmative, and then shift my weight from side to side, looking as awkward and nervous as I can so that I don't appear to be some cocksure punk who's taking this all for granted. He gives me another look, and I can see that something in his eyes right before he says, "All right, come on. Get in."

I bounce on my tiptoes before scampering around to the other side of his car. It's kind of classy, inside and out, and when he unlocks the door, I slip in and take a few sniffs. This guy keeps his ride pretty clean. I buckle myself in, nice and dutifully, and I scope out his dashboard. Nothing too fancy--I think I was right when I pegged his job, though.

When he starts to pull out of his space, I check out his paws gripping the steering wheel. No ring. No single male keeps their car this neat if they're straight. I sniff a few more times, trying to get whatever other faint scents might linger, to see if this guy has a steady boyfriend or not. It doesn't really matter, seeing as he's giving me a ride already anyway, but I'm just professionally curious.

"Thanks for the ride," I say, tucking myself in to make myself look nice and small. "I really appreciate it."

The dog keeps his attention forward. "Oh, it's no real trouble. I'm heading in that general direction anyway." I honestly can't tell if he's lying or not when he says that, but again, it hardly matters.

I decide to play at small talk. That's what a nervous guy like me would do in this situation, after all. "I've got a three-day weekend coming up. I don't need to go back to school until Tuesday." He just nods, still not turning to look at me, but I notice his eyes flicking sideways. "You don't get Monday off work, do you?"

"Nope, afraid not," he says, and despite trying so hard to maintain some sort of veneer of professionalism, he finally just cracks and a big, goofy smile appears on his face. "Don't I wish, though?" I wait for him to start waxing philosophically about wishing he were young again, nominally just to say that he misses being my age as a way to 'identify' or whatever, but which he'd really be doing out of some twisted attempt at an 'accidental' come-on, but he doesn't, and I'm glad for it. I mean, I want him to want me, but I don't want him to be some lame-ass creep.

The car trundles along, and he keeps up the innocent small talk. He asks me where I go to school, and so I spin this bullshit story about how I'm a junior in high school, already starting to look at college, and oh, my, isn't that impressive. I had this discussion so many times back when it was actually true that I could probably do it in my sleep by now. It feels like it takes forever to get through, which is a good thing because it helps to kill time as we get closer to the light rail station.

"Where exactly are we heading from here?" the husky asks me as he swings his car into the drop-off zone.

"Oh," I say, pretending like I hadn't expected him to ask the next logical question. "Just up a ways closer to the city. I'm okay getting there by myself, though."

"Are you sure? How far off is it? I might be able to drive you the rest of the way up."

This is where I get to work the magic. "Oh, no, I can't ask you to do that," I say. "I... I mean, I don't even have anything to give you for the ride here."

Husky's eyes light up. He is cute, in his own way. "Oh, no, I'm not saying you have to pay me anything," he says. It's tangible, the gears working inside his head. All I need to do is make eye contact with him and--there, right there, he's already looking guilty again.

"Honestly, I'll be all right," I tell him. Then I grab the back of his paw and squeeze. "Thanks so much for the ride, mister."

My paw goes to the door handle, but before I even get it open, the husky says, "Hey, hold on." I stop and look back at him, and he bites his lip, looks me over for a second, and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. "Here," he says, plucking out a ten and holding it out for me.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," I say, but already I need to keep my paw from moving automatically to just take it.

Husky shakes his head. "Please, just take it," he says. His voice quivers a little. I hide my smile.

"Are you sure?" I ask. Before he responds, I've already taken it. He's overwhelmed with awkwardness, so I just thank him profusely as I climb out of the car, and I see him off with a wave and a smile.

I examine the nice, crisp ten-dollar bill for a moment before slipping it into my wallet. The sight of my I.D. makes we ponder for a moment. If I'd shown it to the husky and proven that I'm actually twenty-two, he probably would've accepted payment in the form of a blowjob and given me a ride to wherever the hell I wanted. If I'd done that, though, instead of ten bucks, the only thing I'd have to show for myself would be a mouthful of jizz. I prefer the way things actually turned out. Besides, that husky'll probably spend the next two days jerking off to shameful fantasies involving my face in his lap, and that sort of fuel goes a long way.

Now, I've got a grand total of sixteen bucks and some change, as well as a new destination.

I am indeed heading closer toward the city, but not as close as the husky was probably thinking. The light rail ticket is still two-fifty, which sucks, because I'm not going that far, but I should still have enough money to do what I need to. Besides, the light rail isn't all that crowded at this time of day, with the rush hour commute home already past, so I'm able to just sit and rest and not worry about whether or not I'm looking the part while I'm in transit.

The sun is gone from view, now, but there's still the solid glow of twilight keeping things bright. The train travels steadily along the rails, more and more lights coming on as we pass through the quaint little suburban downtowns, each one a bit more bustling than the last as we get closer to the city. I'm so glad I'm not heading up that far tonight, though. Besides, I'd never be able to afford to get in anyplace good.

I pull out my wallet again and reach in behind my old library card to slide out the tiny, wallet-sized photo of a coyote that I keep there. I look at his handsome face for a few seconds and think about how he looks almost exactly the same as he did the last time I saw him in person--which wasn't too long ago, now that I think of it, even if feels otherwise. "Well, here I am," I say, silently mouthing the words as if I'm speaking to a picture. "Neither of us ever thought that I'd be able to bring myself to do it, but here I am." For a few seconds longer I continue to look at the photo, and then I put it back into place and stick my wallet back into my pants.

Stop after stop passes by, until finally, the train reaches my stop. It's just at the cusp of nighttime proper, now, and as I trot my way down the street away from the station, the last vestiges of sunset disappear. The streetlights in this part of town keep things more than bright enough, though: 'safe,' of course, for a poor, vulnerable young lad like myself. In all honesty, this isn't all that bad a part of town to begin with, but those lights do more to show how non-sterile things really are than they do imbue a sense of security. That sort of security comes from the fact that there's a lot of money in this town, and that means the cops actually give a shit, because they probably make sweet pensions here.

There seems to have been some sort of concerted effort to turn this place into... I dunno, something like 'nouveau bohemian' or whatever. More than a handful of the stores I pass have these colorful draperies and other jangly bits hanging in the windows, and the scents of incense and patchouli hang noticeably in the air. I'd bet that their entire clientele is comprised of people who got into that sort of thing when they were my age and haven't realized that, over the last two decades, they've actually gotten older.

The aromas finally go away as I round another corner and spot my destination: Stripey's. It's impossible to miss it, what with the big, glaring neon sign, glowing in that "what the fuck decade do you think it is?" shade of orange. Through the tinted windows of the second floor, I can see flashing lights and blurry shapes moving, but no details. It's not even all that late, yet, but it seems like the place is pretty happening. I've got the college crowd to thank for that, I'm sure.

The bouncer is a badger. He's wearing jeans and a tank top in what I guess is an attempt to look tough, but which doesn't work on me since something in his body language tells me that he's a total bottom. The cover charge is seven bucks. He asks me for I.D., and I tell him I don't have one; that means I don't get one of the flashy yellow wristbands that lets me buy alcohol. That's fine, because it would totally kill the jailbait look I've got working for me.

The first floor is where they hold live shows, mostly for local bands who must invariably suck. I've seen a poster or two advertising for a band that might be worth listening to, but not at a dive like this. You don't come to Stripey's because of the musical acts; you come to Stripey's because it's cocksucker central. Not that it matters, though, because there's no band tonight, and so the only people downstairs are the ones sitting at the bar who think they're too cool to dance.

I hop my way up to the second floor, where the dance floor is. The moment my foot hits that floor, I'm fresh meat. Well, I would be if this place were more of the revolving door meat market that I wish it was. Still, I have enough to work with. If nothing else, I can still dance.

Most of the guys on the dance floor do look to be about college age--that is to say, they look older than I do. There are a fair number of those yellow wristbands out there, too, though, so the action won't be dead. Black light makes the bar over by the far wall erupt with fluorescence that's kind of tacky, but which does at least match with the high-tempo (if bland and uninspired) dance mix beat they've got playing right now.

Yeah, the music isn't the greatest, but it's enough to swing my tail to, and so that's what I do. I voyage across the dance floor like I've got absolutely no shame--and I know that I don't, but that's besides the point--and I do my best to make eye contact with as many people as possible, gauging responses as best as I can in the flickering light. The scent starts to get overwhelming, but nobody else seems to notice. People can tune out the world when they're dancing. They can tune them out better when they're dancing and on drugs, which I assume a good many people here are. That's another thing I look for in these guys' eyes, because the last thing I want is to end up with some lug who won't feel pain if I end up needing to run.

I get a look: it's sly, it's handsome, and it's non-threatening. My gaze pulls back, and I see who it belongs to, and it belongs to a red fox, taller than me, dressed more sluttily than me. He's wearing leather shorts that, shock of all shocks, he can actually get away with. His shirt is this black half top (probably a women's) that's refreshingly subdued, if only because it's not the standard fishnet or leather vest. Oh, and he can dance okay, too, so I start to dance my way closer.

Now he knows he's made eye contact, and his handsome vulpine muzzle twists into a satisfied grin that makes me proud. I try to look a little shy, but not too shy, because I am the one approaching him, after all. His smile doesn't waver or falter, and that's a good sign, because it lets him think he's still in control, and that means he won't worry about me.

When I'm up nice and close, I try to dance in a way that makes me look taller than I actually am. This, of course, leads to my acting like a doofus, which makes the fox giggle. He really is going to be that easy, I realize, and so I lay it on even thicker, flattening my ears in embarrassment as I settle back down to my regular, unassuming height.

"You're cute when you try too hard," he calls out to me over the music. God, I like him already. I might actually make a pass at this guy if I were here for that.

I start dancing closer as the song fades into a new song that's just a little slower, allowing for me to pull off the move with a modicum of flow. "Thanks," I reply, smiling with my deliberately lame one-word response. The fox just laughs again, but he lets me keep dancing with him.

By looking at him, he's got to be at least, like, twenty-four or twenty-five. There's the smell of alcohol on his breath, too, and I realize that, given how he's dressed, he's probably the kind of fox who I'd actually have something in common with. For a moment I consider trying to put the effort into testing that before remembering that I've got a more important task at hand.

Pity.

He's respectfully quiet, then, and I'm 'shy,' so we dance in silence for a little while longer, the beat determining how we move. I allow myself to get a little better at it by the minute, and the fox encourages my confidence and seems to grow a bit more emboldened by it himself. I also notice that he smells nice. Then I make sure he notices me taking in his scent. He gets closer, and I put my arms around his lower back.

My muzzle tilts up as his tilts down. We look into one another's eyes, and it's clear that we'd be moments away from making out on the dance floor if this were that sort of place. Unfortunately, it's not, because that would just make my life too easy, I guess. Instead, I settle for getting lost in the whole 'heat of the moment' with him, my paws stroking at the short, soft fur at the small of his back, just above his butt. I feel his tail wag faster even if I can't really see it since I'm looking up.

The fox shuffles half a step closer, and I rub both paws down over the back of his shorts, and then I have to do my best not to flinch at what I find. No wallet. Of course there's no wallet! He's wearing shorts designed to show off the curves of his perfect little ass. I do have to admit that his ass is pretty close to perfect, and so part of me finds it strange that having my paws against it is such an unfortunate thing.

On reflex, I squeeze, like that rump is all that I'd been expecting to find, but he winces and I see his nose wrinkle up. I just kind of gape, but he reaches down, grabs my forearm, and yanks my paw away, holding it up accusingly. "What the fuck?" he snaps.

I gulp, caught in the act. How the hell could he tell what I was going for? I would've figured that he was the kind of fox who liked having complete strangers grope his backside.

Right. He's probably the kind of fox who comes to a club like this with just enough money to pay the cover and then drinks all night for free by getting other guys to buy for him in the hopes of getting into his shorts. Of course he wouldn't need to be carrying a wallet. Maybe the fox and I have other things in common, too

I stammer, trying to think of an excuse that isn't going to get me kicked out of the club, but he opens his mouth again before I can. "How old are you, kid? Eighteen?" I notice, then, that he's staring at my bare wrist.

My jaw drops further, somehow. "Um, well..."

The fox dismissively drops my arm and backs away. "Sorry, sport. Try your luck again in a few years, yeah?" His back is turned before I even need to feign an excuse.

Well, all things considered, that could have gone worse. Okay, so maybe he didn't have a wallet to pilfer, but at the same time, he actually handed me the excuse I needed to stop flirting with him when I wasn't actually planning on taking things anywhere.

I'm back at square one, now, but that's not such a bad place to be.

The best thing I can hope for now, actually, is that not too many people saw my pickpocketing attempt and its spectacular failure. It seems that most of the guys on the dance floor are too into each other to have noticed, though, so I just shuffle my way over to another corner of the floor and decide to put those worries out of mind. I'm not in the biggest pond in the world, for sure, but there are still a lot of fish.

Faster music is playing now, so I shut my eyes for a few seconds and find the new rhythm. Changing tactics from before, I let myself dance as carefree as I can manage, and it comes naturally. I haven't been out on a dance floor in a while, but it all comes back to me quickly enough, I find. There's no pretending to be shy anymore: I want people to notice me, and I work my little body to its utmost, and when I open my eyes, I feel the rush hit me.

I miss getting to dance like this. I'll make a point to do it more often in the future.

Sure enough, I start getting looks. Some of them are guilty ones, probably because I look like the forbidden fruit I'm hoping to look like. Other people have far less shame, and they leer at me, making a special point to check out my ass and tail as I shake both of them around. Yeah, it's probably a bad sign that I sort of get off on other people looking at me like that, but it helps me to stay in character. Confidence is easy to turn into cockiness, and my trick is letting that happen while still retaining a hold on what I'm doing.

I lose my step as someone bumps into me from behind. I start to stumble forward, but then an arm reaches around my chest and yanks me back even harder. The strobe effects make me even dizzier as my balance gets rocked around, but soon I'm firmly held in place up against some guy's front. He's a lot taller than me, that much I can tell, and he smells canine. Also, he's got this nice, heavy bulge pressing right against my lower back. "Easy there, kiddo," he growls.

Three, four years ago, I might've just shot in my shorts over being manhandled by a nice, big guy who spoke to me like that. As it is, I feel a little tingle, but that's about it. Just to be nice, though, I force a little whimper from my throat before I tilt my head back to get a better look at him. He's a wolf, bordering on handsome, probably in his mid-thirties--maybe late thirties, but I doubt it. The grin on his muzzle shows that he has no qualms about being (what he thinks is) twice my age.

"Hi there," I reply, keeping eye contact with my head awkwardly canted back, making sure to press my rump back against his thighs. "And thanks."

"Thanks for what?" he asks, his grin growing. A big paw on my chest strokes its way down to the top of my stomach.

My thick tail bats back and forth between his legs. "For not letting me slip away like that," I say, and then I turn to face forward again, going back to swaying my hips in time with the music. The wolf follows suit; he might not have a great sense of rhythm, but he's keen on keeping himself pressed up against my ass. That's motivation, I suppose.

"I wouldn't want a cub like yourself getting hurt," the wolf says, his muzzle dipped down nearer to my ears. "Especially not in a place like this."

"Oh?" I ask, sounding disinterested for a moment. "Is it dangerous in here?"

"Not if you know what you're doing," he says. The paw that had been stroking my abdomen moves over to my arm, and he pets his way down all the way to my fingers before retreating to my bare wrist. "Can I get you a drink?" he asks, the tip of his snout now directly pressing into the shell of my left ear.

I let my resolve crack along with my voice, but only for a moment. "Are... are you sure?" Hopeful and nervous. Like I didn't expect it.

"I won't tell if you won't," the wolf says, releasing my wrist to grab my hip and tug me back against him. "You up for it?"

My chest rises and falls. I let him feel me deliberate. "Uh, yeah, if you're sure," I say.

"Just go have a seat," he says, pulling away from me, patting by butt. "I'll find you." He winks, clicks his tongue, and then heads for the bar.

My grin is a fully satisfied one as I head on over to where there's an open table. I really hope that this guy is as much of a creep as he seems, because that would be the bonus to end all bonuses. There's no need to act to keep my tail dancing about after I sit down. I'm fucking excited. This has the potential to be awesome.

I distract myself by watching other boys dance. There are some real cuties out there, too. If things with this wolf go sour, I've already got at least three more marks lined up for my charms. I'm legitimately still staring out there when the wolf comes back and sets a drink down in front of me.

It's a rum and coke, as I discover after I take the first sip. Pretty smart choice, really, since it just looks like a soda, after all. He's got some amber liquid in his own glass, and while it's hard to get the smell over the scent of his own sweaty musk, I think that it's scotch. "How's that for ya?" he asks, nodding to my drink as I set it down.

"It's... yeah, it's good," I say, 'bravely' taking another sip before putting it down again. "Thank you. You're very nice."

"I ain't so nice." The wolf smirks. Unlike the bouncer, this guy can actually pull off tough. Before, I might've found that sort of thing attractive, but not anymore. I mean, it's not bad, and it doesn't put me off, but if I were playing this game for real, he wouldn't actually be scoring any points with me. "You go to school around here or something?" he asks.

"I'm supposed to," I reply. I throw in a shrug, just to be nonchalant. That's not even a complete lie, either. "I guess I'm not all that good at not doing things I shouldn't."

The wolf takes a tiny sip of his drink and makes a quick face. Definitely scotch. "Does that include not talking to strangers?"

"Apparently," I say. "I don't really have much of a choice, though, do I?"

"Drinking more makes it easier." This time, he doesn't make the face when he sips his scotch. "You'll get used to it."

Something about the way he says it makes me nervous for a moment, and I wonder if he didn't slip me a roofie or something. Fuck. I should have considered that in advance. I don't know what the fuck he might've done to my drink before he plunked it down on the table in front of me, and I just started to drink it anyway.

My lips hover just over the little red straw, my anxious breath making it flit about, and he notices me hesitate. For another moment, we hold eye contact, and then he lets out a chuckle that in no way takes away from his masculinity. "You haven't done much drinking before, have you, kid?"

Ah, so that's his M.O. Get the little high schooler plastered, and then drag him away for an easy. That's more the sort of date rape scenario I can handle.

I smile. "Mostly just beer," I say, and then I take a good sip of the rum and coke. The wolf smiles, looking all proud. "Plus, ah, you..."

He tilts his head, and covers one of my little paws in his large one. "I what?"

"You're kinda... y'know, handsome." I hide my would-be look of embarrassment by burying my face against my glass and taking a full-on glug. The rum in coke itself is actually decently strong. Most places don't give you a good one nowadays. Score one for Stripey's.

"You're not so bad-looking yourself, kid," the wolf says. "Not sure how a little fella like you ends up in a place like this."

I sit upright in my chair. "I guess I'm just trying to, um, expand my horizons. They make a big deal out of that in school, you know. Expanding your horizons, I mean. Not, like, running out to nightclubs."

The wolf laughs. "Yeah, they tended to frown upon that sort of thing back in my day, too," he says. "Trust me, though, it'll be over before you know it, and it's all smooth sailing from there."

Those last words of his hit me pretty hard. My muzzle twists up with displeasure. "All right," the wolf adds with a resigned smirk, "it's not actually smooth sailing. But it will be over before you know it."

Speaking of which, my drink is finished before I know it, too, and the wolf promptly gets me another one. I can probably hit a pretty good buzz off of a second drink, and that'll allow me to more readily sink into the zone where I can feign full-on drunkenness. At my size, the amount of alcohol to make up the difference between the two is fairly little as-is. Even when I am drunk, though, I think I'm okay at playing certain parts, but for this one, I'd rather be at least partially sober.

There's more small talk when he gets back. He's moved onto beer, I'm sipping a second rum and coke. I will myself to sink into the inanity of small talk, not for the first time today, channeling my daring-yet-timid high schooler persona, the occasional 'slip of the tongue' doing more to fuel this guy's mental image of me.

After the second drink, I'm promptly being whisked back outside. He doesn't have a car (fuck), so we take a cab. Rather than heading back to some crummy apartment complex, though, he has the cabbie take us by a downtown area motel. I didn't notice any wedding band on the guy when we were talking--and I'm pretty sure I looked--so I sneak a few glances now, while I have the chance. Nothing. Maybe he's just shy. Maybe he has roommates that'd call the cops if they saw him bringing some drunk teenager home for a quick, nasty fuck.

Well, on the one hand, the motel will make this easier. On the other hand, it'll add some logistical difficulties. I'll be able to make more noise, if nothing else, and it'll be harder to piece things together after everything has come to a close. I work on ways to turn the upcoming situation to my maximum advantage as the wolf checks us in. My eyes fall on his wallet; he pays with a credit card, but there's cash in there, too. We get a suspicious glance from the squirrel at the check-in counter, but seeing as this motel looks like the sort of place you'd come to murder a hooker, she seems entirely unconcerned. I imagine she's seen far worse.

The moment we step through the door into our actual room, I expect him to pin me right up against the wall and ravage my muzzle with a drooling, forceful kiss. He doesn't, and I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or not. He seems very calm, actually, even though I can see how hard he is through his jeans. Must be that he knows there's no cause for rush or worry.

I stop by the bathroom mirror and make like I'm fussing with the fur between my ears, but in reality, I'm practicing a smile that says, "I'm a virgin who's trying to pretend he's not a virgin." After a few attempts, I nail it, and file it away.

"You need to be back anyplace tonight?" the wolf asks me as I come back around the corner. He's already sitting on the bed. I shake my head, but say nothing. He smiles again. "Good. Makes things easier."

"Oh. Good," I reply. "I don't, uh, want to make things difficult."

"You haven't so far," the wolf says, his fingers unfastening his belt. "You mind taking your clothes off for me?"

I shake my head again. "Yeah, okay," I say, my tail going still as I peel my shirt off over my head. I don't intentionally flub that part of it; too much comical inexperience would give me away, at this point. As soon as my shirt hits the floor, the wolf's grin is bigger, and I can feel his eyes on me. To buy time, I do a slow little three-sixty turnaround, and then I bring my paws to the catch of my pants. His eyebrows raise and his ears perk up before I've even started getting them open. He's not just going through the motions. He really wants this.

A sigh escapes my throat as I get my jeans open, because it does feel good to get that pressure off the erection I've worked up. This might all be just an act, but it's still a turn-on--which is good, because I challenge you to find me a sixteen-year-old who wouldn't be painfully hard by now at the promise of sex. I pull the pants off my legs one at a time, and then tug my boxers down, leaving me naked and fully on display. The wolf holds up a paw and twirls a finger in a circle, and so I turn around for him again, letting him scope out my tail and ass.

"Get on the bed, kid," he says, and while there's a distinct growl in his voice, there's something gentle there, too. Maybe I'm just imagining that I hear that, though. Whatever. I crawl onto the bed, and get into the most obvious position a bi-curious teenage boy would get into when letting someone fuck him for the first time: on my paws and knees, tail lifted, rump raised nice and high.

The wolf laughs at that, and the sound of it sends a shudder right down the length of my dick. "Nah, kid, not like that," he says, patting my butt with a big paw. "Trust me, you don't want to be in that position with me. Why don'tcha roll onto your back?" I fold my ears back as I turn to look over my shoulder at him, and I nod quickly before turning around and lying down. I'm glad he got me off of all-fours, because he could seriously fuck me in half if I let him take me that way. Besides, that never feels as good, anyway.

"You've never done this before, have you?" the wolf asks as he caresses the inside of my thigh. My member twitches at the touch.

"'Course I have," I murmur, giving my tail a flick. He smiles at me, with a look in his eyes that says, Yeah, nice try, kiddo. He says nothing, though, allowing me to decide in my mind whether he believes me or not, and then he lifts up my balls and starts to tickle. I squeak like a girl. I see the bulge in his jeans shift.

He's still got his pants on, and so I'm not surprised that he doesn't just jump on top of me and start pounding away right then and there, but I am surprised when he scoots back onto the floor and lifts my legs up over his shoulders. The look of shock in my eyes is completely genuine as he brings his muzzle in between my balls and my tail and starts to lick.

I throw my head back, screw my eyes shut, and whine. Oh, fucking hell, how did I luck out like this? I'm hard-pressed to get people I like to do this to me, and here I am, getting the full treatment from a total stranger.

The gods of karma must just be smiling on me today. The wolf's tongue is long and thick, and it feels abso-fucking-lutely wonderful as it laps away at my snug little opening. He takes his time, nostrils huffing to drink in my scent, saliva matting down the short, fuzzy fur that lines the cleft of my backside. He snuffles and presses and kisses me under the tail like he's trying to make out with my rump. I could honestly let myself blow my load all over my tummy right now, but then it'd be harder for me to enjoy everything that's to come after, so I hold it in. Doing so makes my whimpering pitch higher. This guy deserves every bit of that squeaky praise.

His tongue actually plunges into me a few times, spreading my tight ring and sliding its way in. He's attentive, and he's careful, like he's ready to fuck an actual, honest-to-god virgin. Maybe that means I don't get any lube besides spit. That would kind of suck, but in asking myself whether I'd trade the rim job for a proper lubing-up, I don't come to a clear answer right away.

My train of thought derails as that tongue slips free, and I get one last kiss to my scrotum before the wolf stands. "You seemed to like that, kiddo." Now he's getting his pants open. His sheath flops out of his underpants with a heaviness that you never see in younger males, even the well-endowed ones. Already, there's the beginnings of that all-important spike of pink poking free. He's gonna be big, but not the biggest I've ever taken. "You think you want to go for this, too?" he asks.

I nod. "Y-Yeah," I say, still feeling the dampness dribbling under my tail. Shit, maybe I'm not going to need lube after all. My natural inclination, now, would be to offer to suck his dick, first, but as the timid virgin, I'm letting him call the shots. I'm supposed to be too nervous to just up and suggest that he plug my muzzle, and besides, it's way easier to pretend to be a first-time fuck than a first-time cocksucker.

The wolf's thick fingers wrap around my shaft and squeeze. I've been leaking, and the sound it makes as he starts to stroke me turns me on even more. He starts to climb onto the bed with me, leaving his shirt on. The scent of wolf grows incrementally by the moment. As he brings himself into position, I 'nervously' watch as his shaft starts to slide, bright and shiny, from its fuzzy holder. His own drizzle starts to spatter the fur on my thigh. I bite my lip, and he pets my chest and tummy with his other paw. "Easy, kid," he says, looking me right in the eye. "I'm going to go nice and slow."

My eyes lock on his shaft for a second, and I make a show of needing to pull them away before looking back into his face. "It looks like that's going to hurt," I say. Now I'm pretending that I'm no longer pretending that I'm not a virgin. He puts a paw over mine as he settles closer atop me.

"Just try your best to relax," he tells me, leaking tip leaving a trail in the fur of my leg as he stops stroking my cock and takes hold of my hip. He lifts me up and sets my rump against the tops of his thighs, spreading my legs around his waist. He's got wide hips, but I'm limber. Slowly, he nudges himself into position, and the moment I feel the damp tip of his shaft pressing against the equally-damp spot under my tail, I shut my eyes.

I haven't actually been fucked in a good while, and so I do actually have to wince as he pushes in. He's trying to be gentle, I can tell, but at his size, that doesn't count for too much. He probably knows it, too, and so I theatrically bite at my lower lip and scrunch up my snout as he works himself deeper. My hope is that he'll be too horny to restrain himself fully, and sure enough, though I'm radiating nothing but discomfort, he doesn't stop completely--he slows down, which is nothing short of admirable, but he doesn't stop. It's easier for me to milk out some faint tears thanks to the strain I'm taking.

He buys it totally. His paw caresses my cheek and my snout, and I nuzzle at it like it's the only comforting thing in the world, sniffing and snuffling as I pant and gasp, the wolf's girth plowing ever deeper. I flex my toes and ball my paws into little fists, scrabbling at the top of the bed sheets without managing to grab hold of them. My muzzle parts, no sound comes out, and he juts his hips forward sharply, stuffing the last inch or so into me.

"That's it," the wolf says to me in a growl that might actually sound reassuring if delivered by someone with half the amount of rumble in his voice. I do my best to just nod, causing my nose to brush along his wrist, and I squeak when he shifts his hips. I focus on the sound of my pulse hammering in my ears as the only way to really calculate a meaningful passage of time. He's going to start again, sooner or later, and the best I can do is make sure my body is ready for it.

He senses me relax, I can tell, and he takes his paw away from my face and uses it to steady my other hip. His fingers tense, first, giving me the only warning before he pulls back a little ways and then pushes back in. With my backside set on his hips, it's actually, well, comfortable, at least insofar as I just get to lie there without needing to worry about moving or anything. In just about any other situation, I'd allow myself to be--dare I say it?--lazy right about now, letting the other guy just fuck me until he got off and I was able to feign an interest in cuddling afterwards. I can't get off that scot-free, though, but all I really need to do is keep up a modicum of squirming as he lengthens his thrusts and makes them harder.

It's a pretty quick change-up, too, actually: maybe it's just because he's leaking a whole lot, but he doesn't leave even the supposedly virginal me much time to acclimate before he's working my ass a lot harder. Is he that horny? Or am I showing too much sign that I'm enjoying it? Well, I am, after all. Even when I really was losing my virginity, I was loving every second of it, too, so it's not all that strange to think that a twinky raccoon like myself would get off on having his tail ravaged for the very first time.

The intensity increases further still. Now, the wateriness in my eyes is for real. I force my eyes open and look up at him, at once marveling at and fearing his tight, muscular form as he forces himself into me, again and again and again, jackhammering my prostate, both that focused pressure as well as the smacking of hips making my own shaft jump and twitch and spritz onto my tummy. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to will myself into orgasm by nothing but direct prostate stimulation, but there are parts of my brain that are still trying to concentrate on other things, so that might not be possible.

One of the wolf's thrusts goes a little short, and I'm so distracted that it takes me a second to realize why: his knot's starting to really swell, now. On the next thrust, I actually feel the curve of that bulb bump up underneath my tail. I suddenly have the perfect window.

"W-wait," I stammer. "I... I don't think I..."

The wolf just grunts. "Don't worry." He huffs and huffs, two more thrusts. "I ain't gonna stick it in you." Oh, thank god. Not that I wouldn't be able to take it, but I'm just plain not in the mood to be tied tonight. Being forced into a cuddle-session with this complete stranger wouldn't be just awkward for the both of us, but it would also make me really nervous that such proximity--in the aftermath of his getting off--will allow him to see through my façade.

One of the wolf's paws leaves my hip, and I brace myself to feel it on my cock, but he doesn't put it there. I crane my neck up to see where he has put it, and I see that he's got it on his own cock. Well, more specifically, he's got it on his knot. I can see him strain as he starts to squeeze, and it looks damn uncomfortable. I'm suddenly glad that I'm not a canid. Anyway, it looks like he's done this sort of thing before (gotten off without tying, not fucking a too-tight virgin, though I'd wager he's done that before, too), and it doesn't seem to begrudge him too much that he's got to do things this way.

His jaw snaps at the air, and he grunts louder than before. His thrusting slows, but it doesn't stop, and I can see the paw that's wrapped around his knot start to shake. He's got to be emptying himself out inside me, I figure, but he's so long that I can't feel it. Given lupine instincts, I doubt he's going to pull out right away, either.

Moments of harsh panting later, he's recomposed himself. His hips are still, and he just holds me against his lap as he strokes my own much more modest dick. I writhe and squirm, and if I can't clench down around his knot, I can at least wriggle my ass up against it. He seems to like it; I actually like it, too, and I take in the scents of wolf and sex that are stinking up the hotel room and quickly fantasize that I've just been taken by someone whose name I actually know.

After less than a minute of that, I'm painting my own belly. It's not until after I come down from my own orgasmic rush that I realize that it's been three days since the last time I got off. That's a fucking head rush, right there.

"You feel okay?" the wolf asks me a few minutes later, after we've both been lying on our sides, the clinging dribble of quickly-cooling semen starting to make itself felt under my sagging tail.

I nod against the pillow. "Uh-huh," I murmur. I sound drunk. That's probably a good thing.

"Sure you don't have anyplace you need to be tonight?"

"Nope," I say. It's a funny question, but not for any reason he'd know. I lie there for a few more seconds and then say, "I'm kind of thirsty, though."

The wolf makes a sound that I can really only call a giggle. "I can get you a glass of water," he says.

"Um, can I run down the hall and grab a soda from one of the machines?" I ask.

Now the wolf just laughs. "You're going to stink of sex," he says. "I can go get one for you."

"Would you?"

He gets up, and I roll over and watch him get dressed and leave. I lie still, patiently, and watch the ceiling until he gets back. When he does, he's got himself a can of soda for me. "Catch, kid," he says, tossing it to me, forcing me to sit up.

I drink it, and he watches me. It must be awkward for him, forcing himself to care about me, but since we've got to share the room, it's all he can really do. He slips his clothes back off and crawls back into bed with me, but it's late, and I'm sure that, at his age, he doesn't have another go left in him.

The caffeine helps me to stay awake for the next couple of hours. It's grueling, waiting to make sure that he's asleep, first, and then further still to wait until he's in deep sleep. Once I'm content that he is, I slip out of bed and pad around on all fours to minimize the amount of noise I make as I cross the dark room. I watched where he dropped his pants when he got undressed, and I make a beeline for them, reaching into the pocket and plucking out his wallet.

There's a hundred and forty-three dollars in there. Shit, that's more than I was expecting. Maybe he thought he'd be dropping more money on drinks until he snagged someone back at Stripey's who'd put out.

Given how much money he has, and given that he did try to be moderately nice to me, I leave him a twenty so that he can at least get himself a cab home. I keep the bills in my paw as I grab my own clothing, and I scoot out into the hallway before I start getting dressed, since it's less risky to be naked in the hall at this hour of the morning than it is to chance the wolf hearing my belt jingle as I fasten it back into place.

I jog several blocks down the road before stopping at a pay phone to call a cab. While I'm waiting for the one I called to show up, though, another cab happens to drive by, so I flag that one down instead. I crawl into the back seat and just murmur, "Bus station."

The driver is a mouse. He might not have the best sense of smell in the world, but even his nose wrinkles up after a few seconds. I haven't showered or anything, and given the little grunty sound he makes, I'm guessing he's none too happy to be ferrying around some little faggot raccoon who clearly just had some other male all over and inside him. Still, it's the dead hours of the night, and I'm money, and he puts up with me.

I don't give him much of a tip, though; I need all the money I can get, and right now, my concern for myself outweighs my desire to be polite. He'll make do, either way, and by the time I've scampered into the bus station, he's probably got another new passenger and has forgotten all about me.

There's an interstate bus leaving at four A.M. Sixty bucks. It means waiting around the bus station for another hour and a half or so, but even if wolfy wakes up in the middle of the night and finds me and his money long gone, he's not going to track me down here. He'll chalk it up to a loss, a foolish, stupid, rookie mistake. Hey, at least he still got to fuck me.

The time passes, and sure enough, no angry wolf comes storming in to wring my scrawny little neck. The bus pulls up into position a few minutes early and opens its doors.

I take a look in my wallet. I pull out the picture of the handsome coyote, my coyote, and I stare at it for a while. "Well, here I am," I say aloud. "I'm really doing it, finally." Now that I'm finally here, even I'm a little surprised. I'm almost tempted to ask him not to hate me for it, but I think he probably already hates me anyway. Remembering the bruises is enough to convince me of that. So I don't say anything. I just take the photo, throw it in the trash, and I climb onto the bus out of town with everything I've got left to my name.

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