FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Why can't you just find a nice boy online," Angela said as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee from the carafe the waiter left on the edge of the table. "It's how I met my husband, after all, and look at how we turned out."

"I know, I know," Ian said. The skunk ran a paw through the thick tufts of black fur between his ears and settled it at the back of his neck. "But I can't help it; I really like him."

"But you don't know anything about him," Angela said.

"I know that he likes to talk politics," Ian said. "And that he agrees with me on a lot of different points. And that he's thinking of going into PolySci to work as a low-level government employee." He hesitated a moment, then looked down at the menu with a hint of shame tingeing the whites of his cheeks a dark pink. "And that he's working here to help pay his way through school."

"Sure, sure," Angela said. The otter waved one of her webbed paws dismissively. "That's, like, public profile information, man. I knew that kind of stuff about my husband within the first thirty seconds of looking at his profile, including religion, sexual orientation, favorite food, and his birthday." She held up her mug and gestured it towards the wolf waiter on the other side of the diner, "Do you know what _his_favorite food is, Ian?"

"Well, no," Ian said.

"Or if he's religious."

"No," Ian said. He glanced up at the wolf (his back was turned towards the skunk as he took the order of an elderly couple seated in a two-seater booth, his tail wagging lazily over his rear and well-toned thighs) and had to consciously drag his eyes back towards the otter in front of him. "Well, I-I mean, it's a pretty safe bet to assume he's Catholic around here."

"Sure," Angela said. "But it's also a safe bet to assume he's straight, too."

"I suppose," Ian said. He propped his head up at the cheek and stared down at the breakfast menu in front of him, browsing through the various platters and specials and mix-and-match options that littered the massive, laminated card. He wondered, idly, what was the wolf's favorite food? Pancakes with eggs and bacon? Or maybe he was a sausage guy (no pun intended). Maybe he didn't like eggs. Maybe he preferred French toast. Maybe he wasn't even a fan of breakfast foods. Maybe he'd ask him next time he worked up the courage to actually speak to the athletic wolf. Or just flag him down and ask him here and now.

But that might sound too much like he was asking him on a date (especially if he asked in the middle of a restaurant - one that he worked at. How corny of a pickup line would that be?), and if he wasn't interested in other men, then that might be crossing too far over the line. Hell, even assuming the wolf liked guys, how was he to know he'd go for guys like him? Of all the inter-species couples he knew, he'd never seen a skunk like him get with a canine like him. Not one with a working nose, at least. Then again, he'd never complained about the musk the last five weeks they sat side-by-side in class every other day ...

That aside: even if he could get past the skunk aspect, that didn't mean he went for the short, thin, quiet nerd type. He definitely worked out at least semi-regularly, and half the time smelled like he'd just come from the gym (those days were both Ian's favorite and least favorite days in class; his notes never made sense when he looked back at them at the end of the day, but being that close to the wolf as he just emanated the scent of hot, worn, worked wolf ... ). Maybe, if he liked guys at all, he liked the kinds of guys who worked out with him.

There were just too many things Ian just outright didn't know, and the frustration drove him mad. There were three things you never brought up at the dinner table, and he could have hour-long discussions with the wolf on two of them three days a week. They could dance around heavy political issues and get down and dirty with theory. They even backed each other up when they both voiced dissenting opinions in a classroom filled with the conservative, the religious, and the overly patriotic (all of which he and the wolf were not).

So why, why, couldn't Ian just ask him a question as simple as "what's your favorite food?"

"Why don't you just look him up?" Angela said.

"I can't," Ian said.

"Why not?"

"I don't know his name," Ian sighed.

"Are you serious?" Angela folded her menu and set it on the side of the table, next to the carafe, and leaned across the table to look Ian in the eye. "You're this worked up about him, and you don't even know his name?"

"Well, it's not like we had a formal introduction," Ian said. "The class was packed, I was sitting up in the front, the only open seat was right next to me; it's not like he chose to sit with me!"

"You didn't even say 'hi, my name's Ian'?"

"No, of course not," Ian said. "I mean, who does that?"

"Me," Angela said.

"Yeah, well, that's you," Ian spat. He sat back in his chair and slouched down with his arms crossed over his chest and his tail curled around his lap to lie curled up against his stomach. "I'm not that personable and outgoing."

"And that's why you should just sit back and find yourself a nice boy online," Angela said loud enough to turn the heads of a few nearby patrons (and, Ian thought, the ears of the Wolf). "There are great databases, these days, and all you have to do is just put in your info honestly, and they'll find you somebody nice and close that fits you well."

"I guess," Ian mumbled.

"Seriously!" Angela chirped. "It'll give you some options; you can narrow it down to your favorite body type, species, height, eye color, kinks - whatever you want! And then you can play it nice and safe and chat with him over the internet for a few months to see if you'd like to meet him in person, and then go on your first date after you're nice and sure he's a good match."

"Nice and safe," Ian said. He had to admit, that sounded pretty appealing. Rejection wasn't something he really wanted to deal with. Not that he had in the past. His crushes always ended the same way: he'd get to know them, really start trying to hang out with them, realize his attraction, and then fall back as much as possible so he wouldn't have to deal with the fear of them not liking him. And, regardless of gay or straight, they always ended up in a happy relationship with him on the sidelines, vicariously basking in the glow of their happiness. Maybe it was about time he started doing that with the Wolf.

The Wolf he didn't even know the name of. The Wolf he was practically stalking twice a week.

He didn't even really have the courage to try hanging out with him, or even really talk to him outside of class. All he ever did was sit in his booth across from the section the wolf was working (so he wouldn't have to deal with awkwardly interacting with him, of course) and clandestinely watch him as he bounced from table to table, his tail raised high and wagging energetically whenever he addressed one of his customers. He'd always wait for the perfect time where the wolf would turn around before he let his warm, genuine grin fade from his muzzle, and the sight would just leave Ian half-melted in his chair (or booth, whichever he managed to snag that day) as he tried to pretend the smile was for him.

But that was as far as things had gotten: admiring the brown-furred wolf from a comfortable distance and basking in transient fantasies. So, maybe it was time he cut his losses and just gave up even trying with this one. He was too paralyzed - even more paralyzed than he had ever been - to even approach him, after all. So what was the loss, now, if things never even started?

"Nice and safe," Ian repeated. "Safe." That sounded pretty akin to how he'd been living his life thus far. (What else could you call actively avoiding hurt and rejection, after all?) And that'd worked for him, right? He wasn't astoundingly happy, but at least he wasn't incredibly depressed. And that's what mattered, right?

Rejection from this wolf would hurt more than anything else he'd had to endure in his life, so it only made sense to avoid the risk all together. Even economically speaking, the possible outcome was high risk with high reward, but the risk of damage was just high enough to outweigh the potential reward in his mind. It was just too much of a risk to be worth the strife that might come.

So why, why, did the idea of giving up on the wolf hurt so much?

"If you're really worried about finding a site, don't be," Angela said. "Trust me, I know a few good ones - reputable ones! We can start you on the one I found Jack on."

"Maybe," Ian said.

"Actually, no," Angela said. She pulled out her phone and tapped away at it feverishly. "Because sHarmony tends to be a bit more straight-heavy and likes putting people with the same species. Something about trying to promote reproducing couples. Maybe CheckMate? They tend to be a bit more inclusive."

"I don't know, Ange," Ian said.

"Just trust me!"

Ian was sure she would have said more, but their waitress arrived at just that moment with her pad in paw. The little weasel shifted her weight from one foot to the other impatiently as she took Angela's order ("I'd like the number three, but with whole-wheat pancakes rather than those bleached flapjacks, and if I could get just egg whites for my scrambled eggs, please? Trying to watch my figure to keep the hubby happy, you understand, right? Oh! And if we could make that bacon two cuts of turkey bacon instead of the pork stuff? Too salty. And as for the hash browns ..."), and by the time she turned her tired gaze onto Ian, he felt too guilty to ask for any more than a two-stack pancake plate with a side of eggs. Scrambled, please.

"And more some coffee, please," Ian said as the waitress scooped up the menus. The weasel gave a nod (at least, he thought it was a nod) as she turned and walked away. "Thank you!"

"Alright," Angela said. She moved around the table and slid into the booth next to Ian, pushing him further along the table and set her heavy tail in his lap with an audible thump. She pressed her body up against his and leaned her head against his shoulder as she held her phone up for him to see. "So, I've got the 'new profile' page up for this one site I found that looks specifically for gay guys in your area. A few mixed reviews, but overall they look positive, and the site's free, so there's that."

"Angela ..."

"No, Ian." Angela said. She pulled away just enough to glare up at the skunk with her piercing black eyes. "No more 'buts.' This is how it's done now, kid." She flumped back against him with a grunt and set the phone down on the table in front of them, lazily scrolling through the list of required fields with the tip of her index finger. "Nobody plays that old game anymore, asking people out without knowing everything about them already. Get with the times."

"Fine," Ian said. He batted Angela's paw away and scrolled back up to the top of the page. "What all do I have to fill out?"

"Name, species, birthday, height, weight, build," Angela said. "Stuff like that."

Ian sighed, "Right." He pulled up the keyboard and began filling out the form ("Ian Douglas ... Spotted Skunk ..."). He was about halfway down the page when the waitress came back with a new carafe of coffee. She eyed the pair with bemusement then set the carafe down on the edge of the table with a shrug before turning away with a swipe of her tail. Angela poured them both a fresh cup of coffee while Ian continued to tap away.

"This feels more like a job application than anything else," he said as he hit the 'submit' button.

"Not really," Angela said. "Job applications don't ask for nearly this much personal information. And, come on: it's a lot more fun. Now!" She grabbed the phone and kicked away from Ian, pushing the skunk up against the window he was sitting next to. "Smile, spots."

"Wait, what?" Ian barely registered what she was doing before the flash went off.

"Eh," Angela said. "Not good enough. Try smiling this time."

"Now, wai-" Flash. "Hey! Hold-" Flash. "Ange!" Flash.

"Sit still!"

"Gimme a moment!" Ian crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders forward as he frowned at the phone. The phone's flash went off again, this time followed by the otter's high-pitched, nasally laughter.

"Sorry," she said. "That was too cute a face to pass up. That's so the one I'm using for your profile."

"No!" Ian pushed off against the wall and slid into the otter. He made a grab for the phone, but she turned away from him and held it out beyond his reach. "Stop! Guys're gonna think I'm some grump if you use that!"

"You are, half the time," Angela said. She slid off the booth and moved around to sit in her previous seat, across from the (now pouting) skunk. "Alright, now for the fun stuff."

"This doesn't sound like something we should really be discussing in public."

"First," Angela said. "And most importantly: top or bottom?"

"What?" A few nearby patrons stopped their conversations and turned to look at Ian. He coughed lightly, lowering his head with a grumble. "What kind of question is that? I'm not answering that out loud."

"So ... bottom," Angela said. She tapped away cheerfully at her phone.

"No!" Ian squeaked. "I didn't say that!"

"Yeah," Angela said. "Totally bottom. Species preference?" She shot a glance towards the other end of the diner, where the Wolf was now setting out the food for the same elderly couple he was waiting earlier. "Besides wolf, of course."

"I'm not-"

"I'll just start guessing if you don't tell me," Angela said.

Ian held up a paw in protest, but he let it fall back to the table with a sigh. "Wolves, foxes, other skunks, maybe badger - does it really matter? I'm not all that picky, really."

"It's just for narrowing the search down," Angela said.

"Don't narrow it too much," Ian said. "Drake equation and all that."

Angela looked up at him. "What?"

"It's ... nothing." Ian said. "Just something to do with stars and planets, don't worry."

Angela grunted. "Alright. Anything else? Coyotes? Dingoes?" She grinned toothily, "Otters?"

"All the coyotes I've met've been dicks," Ian said. "And I don't know if there are any dingoes around here."

"So, otters are a yes?"

"Sure," Ian said.

"Alright, next," Angela said. "Kinks?"

"I'm not answering those out loud," Ian snapped.

"Awh," Angela said. She slid the phone over the table. "I better be allowed to read them, afterwards, though."

The waitress came back, then, with their food in paw as she set down the warm plates in front of them. Ian made sure to give the weasel a warm smile and a quick "thank you" as she set his plates down, but the waitress just grunted something back inaudibly before turning away and marching off to handle the other three or four tables she was in charge of.

Ian took turns between bites of egg and pancake and filling out the vast list of questions the profile asked to fill out. From kinks (the shortest list) to books (the longest) to movies, games, sports (almost as short as the kinks), music, TV shows, and other assorted hobbies - the site asked for practically everything save his Social Security number and his soul (which, he thought darkly, it might have already stolen in the fine print). He was about two-thirds of the way through both his food and his profile when he heard the scrape of ceramic against the plastic tabletop as Angela pushed her empty plate away.

"I'm gonna go use the ladies room," Angela said. "All that coffee and stuff."

"Alright," Ian said. He gave a short nod, then went back to tapping away at the phone's little touch-screen keyboard. He was reaching for his cup of coffee when he saw a little check box at the very bottom of the form. The cup froze mid-way to his muzzle as he read the brief description.

"Allow this site to synch with your phone to track your location and other nearby users."

Ian set the coffee cup back down and held the phone in both paws. He obviously wouldn't set it to Angela's phone - that'd be pointless, though potentially amusing - but he wasn't even sure he'd want to set it to his. He never went out of his way to hide his sexuality - he and Angela actually became friends _because_she asked him if he was gay - but he'd never gone out and actively tried to advertise it. It felt desperate, really. As if he were throwing out little digital fliers to every passing gay guy in a three mile radius with every ounce of his personal information he could be asked.

But, maybe Angela was right: that's how the game was played, these days. He was still out looking for someone face-to-face - the old fashioned way - while everyone else was nose-deep in everyone else's personal information, making decisions based off what they managed to cram into what was, essentially, the bastard child of a personals ad and an elevator pitch.

It just seemed like it took all the fun out of getting to know somebody. There was no need for conversation. Those awkward talks over a candlelit first date. Those little elated moments when they bring up something you like, and you come to realize you have yet another thing in common. Those moments of compromise when you hit a subject you realize you don't agree on ...

How many people would pass him up just because his political ideology was more liberal than most around him? How many would pass him up for being atheist in a religious world? (Despite the fact _he_could look past both of those - politics and religion - if he truly liked the person.) How many people would pass him up because he didn't list their favorite TV show as one of his favorites, too, or their favorite movie, book, or songwriter? How many people would even get that far; how many people would pass him up just based off his profile picture?

Ian sighed. He set the phone back down on the table and drained the last dregs of his lukewarm coffee before pouring in a fresh cup from the now nearly empty carafe. How many people, he continued to idly think, would he be able to have that little moment with when they get his coffee right if he put it up for all to see?

"So," Angela said as she walked up next to him. "Where're you at now?"

"Locater," Ian said. He blew on his coffee before taking a tentative sip. "I'm starting to have second thoughts."

"What?" Angela sat down across from him again. "Why?"

"It just seems like this kills the romance," Ian said. "Like it kills the mystery - the sense of discovery!"

"Oh, yeah," Angela said. "I'm sure those were both very important to you while walking away from every guy you've ever liked."

"That's different!" Ian said. "That was ... that was uncertainty. The mystery was still alive."

"What would you prefer, Ian?" Angela sighed. "Mystery and uncertainty, or absolute certainty in everything, because those're your only options right now, kid."

"There has to be another way," Ian said. "This feels like a resume. A checklist. It's like there's no point talking if you know everything up front."

"That's what you have friends for," Angela said with a shrug. "Why would I need mystery with me and Jack when I can have you here, confusing the hell out of me?"

"At least you're not the only one confused," Ian said. He shoved the phone across the table, sending it flying into Angela's lap. He took a long drink of coffee as he tried to calm himself down, but the caffeine only seemed to further his agitation. "I just don't get why it matters so much."

"Because I'm tired of this shitty little diner, Ian," Angela hissed through clenched teeth (though the nearby patrons and the weasel waitress still turned to look at her). "We've been coming here every other day for the past month because you're so obsessed with this stupid wolf you see the days we're not here, and I'm tired of it. We used to go to sandwich shops, coffee joints, Tai, Chinese, sushi, Italian - but not anymore. Not since you found out this guy works here." She scooped her phone up from her lap and threw it across the table into Ian's chest. "So either man up and get the balls to go ask the dumb dog out, or turn on that locater, because I'm done."

Ian held the phone against his chest where it had landed. All he could think to do was stare at the otter as Angela stood up with a huff and pulled out the wrinkles from her t-shirt and jeans.

"I'm going outside to smoke," Angela said. "And I'm not coming back in, either. You're paying this time."

"But it's your turn," Ian said.

Angela planted her webbed paws on the table and leaned in close to Ian, pushing her broad nose into the skunk's much more pointed one. "Does it look like I care?" She pulled away, spun on her heels, and stormed out through the push-doors behind Ian without another word.

Ian looked down at the phone as he cradled it to his chest. They screen had blacked out, but Angela never bothered locking her phone so that wasn't much a problem. He set it back down on the table and unlocked the device to continue to stare at the little checkbox indecisively, but right as he moved his claw across the screen the whole thing vibrated. A notification popped up at the top of the screen: a little speech bubble. He hesitated for only a moment before dragging down the notification quickbar to see what it said.

Jack <3: hey hon when u getting back luv u [1:23 PM]

Ian stared at the text message until the three minute timer clicked over and the screen darkened again. He never doubted their love (though he did doubt the completeness of their grade school grammar education) - they always seemed so happy together, and the emotions between them seemed so raw and genuine - but he wondered what it took to find it. Mystery and uncertainty, or certainty in absolutely everything - that's what Angela had said. But was it worth it? Were all the little risks and moments and happenstances worth giving up, even if he'd never acted on them before? It's not like he was running the risk of dying alone any time soon - he was only twenty, after all.

But was the mystery really completely dead? There's only so much a dating site profile could show, and nobody - nobody he'd met, at least - was so two-dimensional that there wasn't more beneath the surface of a person's interests and preferences. Maybe he was looking at it in all the wrong ways. Maybe - just maybe - the whole thing was a lot more Gestalt than he gave it credit for: a person's whole is far greater than the sum of their individual parts.

He was about to unlock the phone again when he heard somebody clear their throat next to him. Ian turned and found the weasel waitress standing there, bill in paw with her free paw placed at her hip.

"I'm to take it you'll be paying today, yeah?" She said.

"Yeah," Ian said. He glanced over his shoulder at Angela, then looked back at the waitress with an apologetic smile. "Sorry if we caused a commotion."

"Oh, no trouble," the waitress - Mary, according to her namebadge (Ian never bothered to look) - said. "Besides, you always give better tips than that bitch."

"Yeah," Ian snorted. "Well, you know. I worked as a bus boy through high school, so I know how hard you work."

"Yeah?" Mary smiled bitterly. "Glad to hear you got out young. I just hope poor Maxie over there keeps his grades up enough to get out, too." She nodded towards the Wolf.

Ian felt like his heart was suddenly gripped by a vice as it started hammering against his ribs. "H-his name's Maxie?"

"Maxwell, but he hates being called that," Mary said.

"Good to know," Ian said.

Mary gave Ian a sly, toothy grin. "And he only really likes it when cute boys call him Maxie."

Ian felt his throat close up as he looked back over at the wolf. His tail was arched high as he trotted between tables, his paws full of plates. "Also good to know."

"Just food for thought," Mary said. She set the bill down on the edge of the table and gave it a quick tap before turning away and plodding on to the next table. There was a little bit - not much - more bounce in her step than there had been before.

Ian quickly pulled the bill over and did some head math to figure out the tip ("Twenty percent, so that's two times ten percent ... move the decimal point ...") then scribbled the total down in the space provided. He pulled his credit card out stuck it and the bill between his thumb and index finger and stood up quickly. He almost left the phone on the table in his excitement.

He looked at it soberly, the reminder of the page left open on the phone's browser dampening his mood slightly. The whole thing might have been a joke on the waitress' part, he knew that, but all the same he couldn't help fight that spark of hope and excitement that started in his stomach and shot up through his spine to make his heart beat faster and his breath catch in his throat.

But was the risk worth it? He'd never thought so in the past. Always playing it safe. Always making it a game of economics. Maybe it was best to let this one slide, like all the others, and just turn on the damnable tracker to give him an easy time of matching himself up with somebody their algorithm thought fit him. Free of charge.

Ian looked back over at the wolf - over at Maxie - and wondered just how much he really knew about him. Sure, he knew his species, his fur color, his eyes, and could guess at his habits; he knew his career goal and his political views and current employment; he knew his name and that he, supposedly, liked being called "Maxie" by "cute boys."

But he still didn't know his type, if he read books, what books he read if he did, if he liked horror movies or RomComs, or if he liked Xbox or PlayStation (which, as shallow as it might make him feel, was important to Ian as a gamer). He didn't know how he liked his coffee - if he liked coffee - or if he smoked or hated smokers. He didn't even know, as Angela pointed out, what his favorite food was.

Ian sighed, long and frustrated. He was reaching for the phone when he saw the wolf turn just enough to spot him, then turn the rest of the way with that warm and genuine smile he always seemed to have when he saw the skunk. He gave a little wave, and Ian couldn't help but smile dumbly and wave back. Maxie was about to turn back to his duties when Ian lurched forward clumsily, walking over to the wolf while trying his damnedest to not trip over his own unresponsive feet.

"Hey," Ian said hoarsely.

"Hey," Maxie said.

"So, uh, hey, I've got a question for you," Ian said. "If you don't mind me asking one, that is."

Maxie tilted his head as he kept his eyes on the skunk. "Sure! Ask away."

"Alright," Ian said. He couldn't help but wring his paws in front of his stomach as he switched his weight from one foot to the next. "I, uh ... okay, so, I know this sounds really quite silly, but this is actually a really important question to me so please just bear with me and don't laugh too hard."

"Sure," Maxie said. His smile only widened as he leaned against the nearby trashcan and crossed his arms over his chest. "I promise. Cross my heart."

"Well, I certainly hope you don't hope to die," Ian said. He didn't know much about the wolf, but what he did know was that his smile was infectious, his eyes made him feel as if he were melting, and his scent sent his heart into overdrive. He knew his eyes were beautiful and kind, and one of the richest, deepest chocolate browns he'd ever seen. His coat might've been as average as it could be, but that didn't really bother him, because he knew the wolf's mind was sharp and quick and so filled with knowledge it made Ian's head spin.

So, maybe Ian didn't know much, but, he figured, that was okay: he knew just enough.

"I've been wondering," Ian said. "And like I said, I know this sounds really silly, but ... what's your favorite food?"