That November morning.
I am under the impression that life is simply flowing around, evolving, and progressing in circles, in one way or another.
And there I am, sitting by the bed, miserable, the morning light caressing my fur, the cigarette, almost attached between my fingers, the ash hanging by the tip, about to fall, forming a notable arc.
The note crumbles in my paw.
I fetch my guitar, laying by the bed, where my lover was, not long ago. I hit the strings, trying to find the chords, my fingers slipping, it must be one of those mornings again. My pick bends, as I press my fingers hard onto it, frowning, trying to find the words, and the music, but none seems to fit me, my feelings.
I feel confused.
I feel blank.
But most of all, I feel alone, once more.
The pick breaks under the pressure, falling on the green carpet, in several pieces, my stare following and marking every single one of them, as in slow motion.
The ash from my cigarette soon follows. That's a stain that's gonna stay.
My head drops forward, melodies begin to echo within my skull, deafening, and demanding, in their own way, as my fingernails, strike upon the guitar, my left hand finding the chords, pressing hard down on them.
And the music is fine. The rhythm is there.
But the words won't form. The words cannot form. They linger on my lips, but cannot escape them. Cannot find a way out. Cannot be free. Simply bouncing within my head, hurting, piercing, crying.
The chance to say goodbye, the moment to say farewell, the time to part again.
I gaze upon the crumbled note. I wish I could burn it. But I know I will keep it. A reminder of myself, and of my past. Of who I am and of what I could, or should have been.
And so, everything revolves around in circles. For this ended in the same sudden way it started.
Could I say it died out? Perhaps I am to blame for that.
But I do deserve more than just a god damn, fucking note by my bed when I wake up...
There is a very specific area I love in Athens. Surely there are gay clubs, such as Lamda, and the whole shebang shit, but still. I was never that type. Neither that, nor the 'grinding' whatever the fuck that is, type. I just love sitting in my corner, in a bar that I know well, waving over at the barman, who I know. For him to bring me the drink that he knows I prefer.
I guess it's all a matter of knowing, and following my own pawsteps. I was never, after all, the adventurous type.
I mean, I even drive the same fucking way, every fucking night, getting to my fucking home.
I use that word a lot.
And I also get carried away easily. That specific area I love, is 'Gkazi'. A former industrial area, downtown Athens, now a cultural... something anyway. And to top that, a shitload of nice, cozy, quiet bars around. Of those bars that you can actually hear yourself when talking to someone.
And I mention that, cause one of these days I should sing a song about idiotic clubs where you just dance, drink, smoke and smile in the general direction of whoever is winking at you.
Cause, let's face it. If you make a pass on someone, in such a place, just by smiling, he should really be a retard.He never heard you. And the voice is all that matters, at the end of the day. A sexy voice would make me melt, and purr like a kitten. Even if I am a fox.
Then again, it would all be about choises.
But now that I brought up that subject, I feel I should elaborate. Heck, after all, story of my life. Or something.
I am a fox. A dull one. Redish orange somewhat fur, charcoal gloves and socks, and that bright white tip at the end of my bushy tail. Did I mention the dull brown eyes, and the curly brown hair that will always go around its own fuckin way? That's me. Nothing special. Dull, and ordinary in every single fuckin way, in every single aspect. I mean, even if you somehow inverted my colors in Corel something, I would still look the same. One of the mob, the mass. That's me.
So there I was, at my own favorite bar, drinking my Haig, gold label please, smoking cigarette after cigarette, contemplating over what I had to do to be heard. In a musical way that is. Bills coming in, and all I had to show would be a white Fender guitar, which I am even scratching, by the way. Surely not exactly the life I thought I would be making as a rock star.
Even though, to be perfectly honest, I am not a star, and I am even growing uncertain about 'rock' as well. I think I am going into Pop. The horror.
I pushed my empty glass toward Mike, who simply smiled and filled it up again, before coming over, leaning against the counter, to look at me.
-"Wha?"
He chuckled, rubbing his brown paw, against his forehead. I just love puppies doing that. Too bad he is straight. Cause he is damn cute.
-"Any lovers lately?" he asked me, winking.
-"Do I look like a boarding house?" gulped down on the whiskey in one single go. Watching that, he smiled even wider, grabbing the bottle and filling the glass once more.
-"This one's on me."
-"Good. I was running out of money."
-"So..."
I fetched my Davidoff cigarettes from my jacket's pocket, and swiftly light one.
-"So what?"
-"You are a nice dude. Go find a girl. I bet there are dozens drooling over you."
On a sidenote, he was more or less right.
-"Are we at the point I should compromise?"
-"Dunno. You tell me."
I laughed heartily at that last remark.
-"Yeah, we might be getting there soon..."
As I turned around, to check around in the bar, girls chatting boys, and boys, well, you get the picture, chatting girls, slowly swaying at the rhythm of the soft rock music, my eyes were fixed on the door. As if waiting for something that would appear remotely interesting to pop inside.
And hey, uncle George, it did.
For an ash-gray cute little bunny walked in. And I say bunny, and I mean it in the whole aspect and whole shebang about that word. Cause hey, that bunny was a bunny, b capital. Cute, I think I said that before, elegant, and well, feminish, but then again, all bunnies have that, don't they.
Was I to be proven wrong, I think I am just asking for that in my life.
He strode over, as I was simply staring at him, finding a place, to my horror, next to me, on the bar counter, asking Mike for a soda. The cigarette found a way to slip from my lips and bounce on the floor, eventually being stepped on by the nearby patrons, putting it out. And no, it wasn't about the soda request, even though I hate people who order soda in a bar. Why don't you go in a fucking supermarket. This is a place to drink. And you drink to get drunk.
Right?
Right.
I slowly sipped on my Haig, as I glanced over at him. And he probably noticed, as he placed his backpack on the floor-I forgot to mention the huge fuck off travelling backpack, didn't I?- winking and smiling at me.
At that, I could only reply with a joyful smile, and my soft voice.
-"Soda? You make us Greeks sad. The night has just began, and the night is to be drunk, is it not?" I asked as I looked at Mike, who laughed, passing the Perrier bottle to the lapine.
-" I mean" I continued "That's what the Greek nights are supposed to be about. Drinking and dancing till the sun rises."
-"I wouldn't know about that. I support the saying that goes like 'the early bird gets the worm'" He replied, and godamn him, his voice was even sexier than him.
Did I say I have a thing about voices and their tonality? Well, here we go.
-"Then that same bird is losing all the night. And it's fun." I kept on, lighting another cigarette. To which he frowned slightly, that wonderful lapine nose wriggling around, in the worst possible way-if I was to keep my erection hidden- but hey. Another one of those to die for fascist anti-smokers. In light of that, I blew the smoke clear away from him. "I would be delighted to buy you a REAL drink, if you 'd like."
And he replied with a weird cocktail that neither me or Mike had ever heard, almost giving us a cardiac arrest, go figure, but after asking around, we finally realized what it was, and I paid dearly for it. It actually cost me two drinks of mine. But hey, I had more Haig back at home to get drunk over.
May sound weird, but I do not like fumbling about and talking a lot. So I shall fast forward at this point, and cut to the chase.
Which is simple. He liked me. And so did I. And it had been so fucking long since I held another person in my arms. And I invited him by my place. Turns out, he was travelling all around Europe, getting to know the place, which I find fucking fantastic, I mean, how many Greeks do I know that do that? About... none. Hence the lack of adventure in my life.
Sticking to my den.
And I held him tightly in my arms that night. In fear he would slip away. In fear that it was simply a dream. For he was as good as a dream. He did represent something radically different than me, and I could sense it every time we spoke.
A totally different reality, a totally different world. For he was Canadian, and I was Greek. Almost no common place at all, save for our sexuality. Almost no way to communicate, to reach for each other. And that could easily be seen from our very first words.
For he was a health freak, getting up early, sleeping early, going out to run, no alcohol, except in rare cases, no smoking, no nothing that makes life interesting-according to me- about him.
But he did stay with me for some time. Trying to avoid spending too much? Or trying to build something with someone totally different than him? I shall never know.
And even today, not even an hour since I found his note, I start forgetting him. His face. His expressions. His voice, I am forgetting his voice, how is that possible?
But I cannot forget out first time. And how could I?
That weird drink he had ordered most likely got him in the mood. And I 'd guess he was travelling around a lot, so yeah, I 'd take a wild guess and say that he had not had sex for some time. Practically launched himself in my arms as we stepped inside, his backpack tumbling over, and I would follow, if it wasn't for the wall behind me.
I remember everything.
Kissing for what seemed to be an eternity, tongues fighting, fencing, teeth gritting, as he slipped his hands down my back, massaging and caressing every single muscle, until he found his goal, my round, and rather muscled butt.
My eyes widened momentarily. One of those weird cases were those seemingly tail-raiser-bouncing-happily- all around-bunnies were actually dominant. Oh that's one to savor...
Was not long before he started nibbling on my neck, soaking my orange fur, grinding his hips against mine, and his lapine cock against mine, where the knot was slowly forming. And it might have been the fabric, but he surely felt to be of a good size.
I knew little.
And even less, as he slowly descended, lifting my arms, and taking off my shirt, his big ashen paws grabbing my waist, and turning me around pushing me against the wall. Nimble fingers prowling to the buttons of my jeans, unbuttoning them surprisingly fast, and taking them down. I heard a pleasant murr, as he probably kept staring under by bushy tail, pushing it aside, on my round, plumb butt, wrapped into tight bright-red boxers, featuring a bunny Cupid with wings and all.
Swiftly pushed these down, exposing my feminine -yeah, I will take credit for that- butt to him, wriggling it slightly to further entertain him.
Dominant bunny. Not even in my wildest dreams. What a lucky foxxie I was.
I yelped in surprise as I felt the warmth of his tongue licking against my anal ring, coating it with sweet, sweet saliva, the bunny behind me murring in delight, as I heard his own pants being unzipped, and falling on the marble floor.
He kept giving me the perfect rimjob, pushing in and out with his strong tongue, his right paw grabbing my tail and lifting it up, as I moaned submissively. Minutes went by, as I gritted my teeth at the fantastic experience, and clawed against the wall, almost bringing the paintjob down, until he moved away, for a couple of moments, and then placed his nicely sized cock -from what I could feel- against my rear, grinding up and down, following my moaning, and almost desperate breathing.
I followed suit, arching my spine, giving him better access, and gradually, the tip of his warm, pre-seed-leaking-cock, poking nicely against my pink tailstar.
Almost instinctively I pressed against his meat, my butt-cheeks nicely spreading out to give him that nice view, and teasing, that I was almost a professional at. He drew himself back, after whispering something about some naughty fox, and moved away, as I stared behind my back, with a puzzled murr, to see him fumbling about in his backpack, finally getting hold of a condom wrap. Well thought, I would have said, if it was not for that wonderful piece of male equipment he was sporting between his thighs. Which practically magnetized me. 10 pure inches of prime quality bunny meat, bright red, constrasting his ashen fur, bouncing at every single breath of his. I turned around, as he stood up again, and swiftly took the condom off his paw, as I went down on my knees, brushing my long muzzle against that cock of his. Which made him gasp, and hell if it wouldn't, as my hands moved to caress and massage his low hanging, velvet ball sack, and my tongue appeared through my lips, to slowly lick the underside of his pole, up to the tip, which I kissed swiftly, before my black lips parted to welcome it into the warmth of my mouth, as it was constantly leaking pre.
I tasted him. And I still remember it. Salty, but it appeared sweet to me. Probably all of that whiskey. Started bobbing my head up and down, gladly taking in that musky, male juice of his, tightening my lips against his length, causing him to moan, and grab onto my long charcoal colored ears, pushing me further in, my nose brushing against his pubic fur, my nostrils taking in the most wonderful aroma of domination, by someone who was almost a complete stranger.
And a bunny!
But he obviously wanted to go further, and so he lifted me up, nicely, our cocks brushing against each other, as I lustfully looked into his eyes. Taking the hint, he gave a nice squeeze on my vulpine meat, lingering on the knot that was forming, and bulging, and throbbing, before turning me around, spreading me against the blue wall.
I heard him fumbling around for a couple of moments, as he was putting on the condom. Hell, no such cock fits easily into these mass production condoms. Hint Trojan, hint, this is one fuckin huge and obvious hint.
And then he rested that gorgeous piece of lapine meat against my tailstar, which was still dripping his own saliva.
We stood there for a couple of moments.
Feeling each other.
Scenting each other.
As if for once we could communicate in a common language. With some common cultural background.
Most likely, cause that animalistic lust for sex and simply shagging our brains out, was kicking in.
And we were both ready to play our roles, as the curtains would finally make part, for the show, and the best fuck of my life.
He slowly, painfully, pushed himself inside me, as I moaned deeply, growled, cursed.
He kept pushing. I could feel him breathing heavily against my neck, I could feel his length poking inside me. The biggest I had ever taken. Could feel every vein. Every single throb of his pole against my ring.
Breathing. Moaning. Pushing. Sweating. Throbbing.
Until he hilted in.
Until I could rest on my footpaws again, enjoying the feeling of him being so deeply inside me.
So intimate.
So true. For just one, and only one time.
He slowly pulled out, before thrusting in once more, knocking my breath out of my lungs.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
If that was choreography and not sex, it would have been fuckin boring. But it was not. It was pure animalistic lust, as I kept moaning, and he picked on a nice rhythm, fucking me so nicely. Hard. Total domination. As I gave up any second thought, and started pushing against him. Drawing a chuckle from my bunny, who slapped my filled up bum, and drew himself deeply inside me, almost causing me to scream, his balls slapping against mine, while I started painting the wall with my own pre-seed.
Then he picked up the speed. Fucking me like a predator. Roles switched around. I was the prey. And he was having his way with me. So nicely. So fuckin nicely.
On every single thrust of his, I would push myself down against him, and he would only go deeper, and deeper, faster, and faster. Harder and harder, pounding inside me, like a wild animal. Slapping my cheeks, tugging on my tail, biting against my neck. Could feel his warmth, not only inside me. Totally surrounding me. His scent. That sweet intoxication. That wonderful confession. His body against mine, his meat splitting me apart, making me his bitch. And I loved it so...
And he kept going. Until his climax. Going on hard, and dominant. Till I was completely spent, unlike him. Till he had to drag me into the bedroom, for one more round of many to come, as he took me doggy-style, probably for my own pleasure as well, the pun was not as good as I thought it was.
I lost count of how many times he fucked me during the night. Or of how many times I reached my own climax. Almost on every single weird stance I had read about, or seen.
Guess what they say about bunnies is true. Damn true. I 'll swing for that. And which self conscious, tail-raising boy wouldn't?
The story kept on going. And it was not that bad a story.
He would wake up early, making breakfast, waking me up by thrusting his maleness inside me, and then offering me breakfast, in more ways than one, I would go to the university for my lessons, and then at the studio, to meet up with the other guys of the group, till I returned home, so he would fuck me once more, before he went to bed, leaving me to happily strum my guitar as I would watch him softly drift over, falling asleep. And then laying down beside him, dragging his arm around me, pulling myself against him, rubbing my butt against his hardening maleness. Which would either result in another fuck, or him waking up horny. To my benefit, and his, I suppose.
And several weeks went by.
The same routine.
Whether I showed him around in the town? I certainly did. After all, Athens is a beautiful city. A lot of places to visit, a lot of things to see, and having a native guide, is a blessing.
But the same feeling hovered around. How different we were, and how our only meeting point was sex. That animalistic urge to simply... fuck each other.
Apart from that it really felt as if there was no communication. No common point whatsoever. No adjusting line. A gap spreading between us, before I would spread my legs for him, brushing my tail aside, for his pleasure. And mine of course.
But life follows circles. To our benefit or not.
Perhaps to learn from our mistakes. As if we ever do.
For I woke up that November morning.
And his backpack was not next to the bed.
I felt a chill as I walked around the empty house, returning to the bed, where on his side I found a simple note.
'Goodbye. There is a time when things must end. And I must return...'
That, along with a train ticket, under a 1 Euro coin.
So suddenly. The way it started. So briefly. The way anything strong should be. In order to last...
I am under the impression that life is simply flowing around, evolving, and progressing in circles, in one way or another.
And there I am, sitting by the bed, miserable, the morning light caressing my fur, the cigarette, almost attached between my fingers, the ash hanging by the tip, about to fall, forming a notable arc.
The note crumbles in my paw.
I fetch my guitar, laying by the bed, where my lover was, not long ago. I hit the strings, trying to find the chords, my fingers slipping, it must be one of those mornings again. My pick bends, as I press my fingers hard onto it, frowning, trying to find the words, and the music, but none seems to fit me, my feelings.
I feel confused.
I feel blank.
But most of all, I feel alone, once more...