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Vivi Guardando

In the niche of musclefurdom, big dogs(no relation to the laughable clothing brand) are easy to come by, and for good reason. Who doesn't drool at the thought of a strapping, young, ripped specimen with a long tongue and preternaturally happy smile beaming down at ya while their pert, wagging rump slams it home? And oh, the variety! So much choice, in fact, that many breeds seem to have fallen by the wayside.

So naturally, it's not every day you see a big, badunkadunkulous dhole come lopin down the street at ya in only his...

What's a dhole? Google it.

Alright, fine. The dhole is a very social East Asiatic wild dog with short, stubby legs, but you'd never know it after lookin' at this guy(and yes, he just can't get enough of the D-hole jokes. Can't argue that there ain't some truth to 'em.). He eclipses the sun as he looms over you at a good nearly 7', but his million-dollar smile is bright enough for several hemisphere, wide enough to reach his floofy, jumbo-size ears. Cool, jade eyes sparkle over a broad snout, strong-jawed but a lil short like a fox's, and a tiny cowlick peeks adorably over his head, rusty-red like the rest of his coat. Big dude introduces himself with a high baritone, rich but affected with a enthusiam that deflates any intimidation factor and feels strangely genuine, like he'd draw millions as a motivational speaker. Vivi Guardando he says, huge, strong paw with vicelike grip and pawpads like luxury car seating extended. Ooh, you feel a lil off balance, cutie. Ya do squats? When was the last time you went powerwalking? A strong core means a strong, maaaaanly~ handshake. Sends chills up this old bitch's spine, he says.

A certain word in that last exchange perks your ears. Words are tossed around, and it eventually comes out, with not even a drop of self-deprecation, that he's pushin' up on the ole' N-64(the N stands for "Not a day over"). And again, maybe it's the heat wave, but the image doesn't match the description. Stud's built like a pup half his age and twice his size, thick-set and broad as a barrel. His torso is built but more lean than defined, with pecs that are prominent but not quite reaching the "muscles on top of muscles" look of more devoted chest-lovers, and the outer bumps of a six-pack just visible on the tight, light-brown tree-trunk of his torso. He doesn't have a gray hair on him, dark patches of body hair dusting the cleft of his pecs, lower stomach and weirdly musk-free pits, thick bushes here, soft smatterings there. His arms follow suit; respectably pumped; but when your eyes trail downward, face ablush from the knowledge your ogling a hound who could be your dad, you spot his true pride n' joy, advertised with not-subtle rollllllllll of the hips.

Sheathed in autumn red fur and improbably squeezed into bright blue and pink gym shorts that don't fit his form so much that they were molded onto the skin, this canine ahs the widest, bumpinest, vicious-looking drumsticks to strut down a strip. Like corder ICBM's, the hard-edges striations constantly cut into stark relief then soften into luscuios, curvy bulges like time-elasped sandstone erosion as he jogs in place, broad chest heaving with his pitch-perfect rhythmic breathing. His diamond-shaped quads have more lines and details than most coat of arms, and you're almost too busy admiring the way his bountiful ass bulges outward like a bell curve with his hips to notice the candy-colored bulge they so poetically frame. When he bumps those doomsday thighs to the side like a trained model as he rests a paw on one side, grinnin' down at ya as his leaning leg explodes into glorious relief, it occurs to you that "age ain't nothin' but a number" is a universal axiom.

Vivi, as it turns out, is a lifelong health and fitness buff, not to mention accomplished martial arts master and instructor of 30 years. Following a diabetes scare that led to a rather deep midlife crisis, Vivi resolved himself to a life of peak physical performance, as what is more beautiful in this life than the endless spectrum of form, scale and function of the body, nahual and human alike. It's also why he rarely wears much more humble than tight workout tees, button-up hawaain shirts, and jogging shorts pummeled into submission by the endless battering of that monster he calls a lower bod. If the body is a temple, why clutter it up with junk? Vanity has nothing to do with it. Guy doesn't even keep mirrors in his house. So attune is he with even the most remote physiological minutia of his biology that even the smallest inconsistency; a split hair here, a stiff shoulder there, maybe a bit of unwanted chub in his glutes*; gets stuck in his craw and never leaves him alone till he does something to remedy it. And his encylopedic knowledge of how to do so has made him the favorite cusomer of many a local farmer's market and pharmacy, and even more online.

Vivi's a self-proclaimed "foodie", in the psuedo-homeopathic sense. Irrefutable proof of some heavy oral fixation, Vivi loves to eat almost as much as he loves to permanently beat his footprints into every trail in the county, and he wins compliments all over for his incredible, nutrionally-conciouss cooking. His every culinary creation is crafted with a meticulous eye for optimum nutritional value while never forsaking taste or flavor. He claims to have never taken any classes, instead just reading up on what has which vitamins and fusing them into dishes that seem humble at first glance but deliver a powerful punch to the tastebuds. Anything for helping with blood circulation and muscle tissue in the legs forms his time-tested Bible of ingredients, so natural lots of Vitamin C, E, K and Protein out the wazoo. He's also taken to creating dishes to help with any number of personal maladies large or small, some not so appetizing. Feeling stiff and heavy? Try Vivi's as-of-yet unpatented grapefruit and onion lean beef kebabs with a sprinkling of turmeric. The toxins will just melt right off! Sick of all that emberassing panting after a workout? Icecubes in the jowls! Keeps ya hydrated, and keeps the skin nice and fresh. Not a bit of slack in these jowls, hun. Try unsweetend fruit juice instead for a pick-me-up! Avacado, turkey and walnut salad is great for a luxirous pelt. (Though he rarely admits it, Vivi occasionally adds a dash of coconut oil, too. Sometimes in...shampoo form. His black, brush-like tail shines in the light and ends in a cottony powderpuff that's addictive to touch, so clearly there's something to it, right?) His tastes can run into the eclectic, but to look like he does, not to mention having seqouia thighs for a breed known for their stubby limbs, so best not to judge too quickly.

Course, food is just slop in your gut without the exercise to burn it into fuel, and in addition to his everydog jogs and other lil athletic hobbies, Vivi makes his living teaching kids in the martial arts. In this world where furs grow into paragons of the body naturally, humans have no shortage of means to make up the difference in power and physical combat and warfare are encouraged, healthy sport, most people are born with certain innate aptitudes that make them more suited for certain means of self-defense than others. Some kids are naturally more perceptive and dextrous, while others have a higher aptitude for learning the natural elements and tinkering wth the world's most basic building blocks. Vivi works at a global institution tasked with instructing high-school age kids on martial arts curriculums that run parallel to their academic education**, and his style of choice? Capoeira. Those brutal quads and calves aren't just for show, and alien as it is seeing a barrel covered in fur spinning like a top, a whirling dervish of sheer muscle, limbs, momentum and man, his skills speak for themselves, as does his unreal flexibility. He can stretch and contort his joints in ways that dispel all misconceptions about the limberness of heavy physiques, touching his palms behind the small of his back with Astaire ease, and you should see him do the thing where he reaches one freakishly pumped, long leg over one shouler, and then...ya know what, just don't ask me to describe this, alright? Gotta save something for commisions. His core is remarkably strong, such that he can find perfect balance whether doing flips on an I-beam(mid-construction) or scaling a slope of shifting sand, and if it were possible to have buff pawpads, he's the first. Fuckers are like suction cups, and hoisting several-ton loads on his feet while ambling forward in a handstand is one of his fave party tricks(and a huge hit with movers!)

Fun facts: As open and amicably faggy as Vivi is, even he has his secret pleasures he prefers to keep on the DL. Like a penchant for leather harnesses. The hardcore, gimp-in-Pulp-Fiction kinda shit. Mainly just to see if he's limber enough, hardy enough and just plain buff enuff to Houdini his way out.

Or like his third love, after his health and food...and capoeira, so fourth...wait, he loves to teach, and there's also his deep affection for his many, many brothers and sisters all over the country, so more like...twelth love; Tap Dancing. Had the shoes custom-made for his prodigious feet. Smooth suade and still leave room to breathe.

Despite the exact forementioned tidbit, Vivi absolutely cannot stand music. Tragedy though it is there are so few oppurtunities to sit back and watch as he bumps dat rump to some stone grooves, he insists that his powerful balance and optimum health come down to his unwavering biological rhythm. His breathing is never a beat off pace, nor his gait, and his students tell tales of the dominating glare he casts in battle, eyes always drilling into the opponent even in the feverered rush of battle or dance. He respects musicians, but he simply can't adjust to an outside pulse or he falls all out of step. His private little tap routines are silent, allowing him to sink into the perfomance and beat out stunning harmonies and almost even melodies from the stacatto percussion alone. Oddly, he always runs with an mp3 player, tethered tantalizingly to his outer right thigh, but all it plays is oceanic white noise, as the flow of the tides are among the few natural rhythms that marches in perfect tune with his own.

Not a fan of books. His lifestyle exposes him to an atlas' worth of culture and stories all on its own, and he believes living life is preferabble to imagining it.

The moments Vivi feels his age don't come often, but when a bug manages to crawl through his perfect veneer, it's a spectacle. Runny nose, shaking joints, droopy tail, panting. Even his Olympian ass seems to look a little less exuberant. (Best check to make sure.) Sometimes it's just exaggeration and his bod is reacting sympathetically. Even the thought of a drop of hgh fructose corn syrup penetrating his defense is enough to make him wretch, and do you know what that does to your teeth enamel? Dholes have more fangs than most dogs, ya know!

Grows a substantial garden in his small loft patio, making the most of his meagre space with verdant greenery, and the results are scrumptious and good for you.

Cept he doesn't grow veggies. Flowers can make for lovely teas, really!

The reason he doesn't appear to have any natural musk is his pure, well-oiled respiratory system, sparing use of spice and violent aversion to alcohol and caffiene. Not that he has anything against smelling nice and ripe, he just happens to have discovered a better alternative when you have your pipes a little cleaner than most. It's subtle, but darkly pungent, and a wonderous aphrodesiac. "If you think sweat and stink is tops, wait till you smell what real man smells like, sans concentrate." -the last thing you hear before your world becoms pecs, arms and pits. And moaning. Lots of that.

Don't let this get out, but Vivi was Sem's first crush as a kit, as he elected to take capoeira training, and his peeping tommery led to his first realization that he was into guys. Discovering Vivi was the same was a happy coincidence, but nothing happened, and Semille never told him what he saw or how he felt to this day.

Huh, it occurs to me I have yet to really talk about my own 'sona much. Maybe sometime soon, but eh, I'd rather just write about him.

*"No such thing. ;)" - Vivi

** I swear up and down this story isn't some tired narutard shonen thing. Just bear with me here.