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I peered out over my magazine, trying to catch the gaze of the waitress as she walked the aisles. It was the middle of winter, and the windows of the café were covered in steam as she finished serving an elderly lion near the steamy windows of the shop. I held my focus as she walked towards me... straight past, and to a customer somewhere behind who'd signalled her with a wave of his paw.

Defeated, I raised my paw feebly, and the waitress came rushing offer with a fresh cafetière. She smiled a friendly-looking, forced smile without her eyes, and spoke with a thick American accent.

"Honey, if you needed a refill you shoulda put your paw up when I passed the first time rather than sitting there like a rug."

"I know, but... I was trying to get your attention without words, without motions. Simply with a look."

My explanation was met with a blank stare, and as the awkwardness set in, she politely leaned over to top up my mug, as if to break the stalemate between us. As she did this, I noticed her name badge hanging at a careless angle against her chest, the name 'Angela Stuccon' printed cheaply in gold letters across it. A bell rang somewhere, but I couldn't place it. Had I once known a Stuccon? Someone in school? I thought hard as the name echoed through my mind, trying to find the memory it belonged to, but nothing surfaced. As the last trace of hope of placing the name faded, I became painfully aware of how long I'd been staring at her chest.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't... I'm not like that. I'm gay." I spat, trying to explain, the heat rising in my cheeks. Trying to cover my awkwardness by announcing my sexuality to a complete stranger wasn't my smoothest of moments.

"I guessed, hun. After all, you're an actor, right? I saw your magazines."

The stereotype caused a wave of annoyance to wash over me, but it's not like I could deny that I fit it. All I could do was a summon a meek "I suppose so."

"What's your name, hun?"

"Ryan."

"What kind of thing are you looking for?" She replied, vacuously. Between my embarrassment and her constant, questioning small talk, I was getting increasingly annoyed.

"Anything. I keep thinking that if I just land one role, I could use that as a foundation and build upwards..." I swirled the mug of coffee in my paws for effect before continuing, "but nothing comes my way."

"You could be a method actor in a Shakespeare play - you're so melodramatic." She flashed me another fake, eyeless smile, and flounced away.

The coffee shop was one I came to often. It was built under a railway bridge and filled with second hand furniture, but the owners really knew their coffee and it shone through. It had a reputation as a hipster joint, but the perpetually steamed up windows also had an air of privacy, so I never felt awkward sitting there for extended periods of time nursing my drink while looking for work.

Acting has been my dream since I was just a four-year-old coyote cub, when I'd take on the roles of fictional characters and act out stories between myself. After I left school, I worked menial retail jobs for a few years until I couldn't take it any more. I left at the first opportunity, vowing that I'd get a career on stage or die trying.

I made a point of going to the shop at the same time every day, and spending four hours exactly trawling through magazines, websites and theatre billings looking for any kind of in. My late father once said that you had to treat the hunt for a job as a job in itself - and it was a tenant I'd taken to heart. Still, nothing wears you down faster than knowing you could give your heart and soul to a job, only to be turned down because someone won't give you that first small chance.

Suddenly, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket - that was the alarm I'd set, signalling the end of my "shift". There wasn't much else to do today anyway, so I packed up my things, placed my empty mug on the counter, and headed home.

---

The next time I visited the coffee shop, it was Thursday, and that meant only one thing - a new copy of Acting Times, with new parts for me to apply for. I ordered myself a mug of the Guatemalan roast, black, and wandered to my usual seat. I spread the magazine out over the wooden table in front of me.

Pulling out my pen, I skipped to the job listings. Male lead needed to play starring role in new production, must have ten years experience on stage-

I put a thick line through it.

-new production of MacBeth for bright audiences, previous Shakespearian role requir-

Another line. I gritted my teeth, trying to fight the frustration.

-must have a diploma from an acting college-

No.

-Short-

-feline-

-late 50s-

No. No. No.

I reached the end of the section, having obliterated each advert in turn like a prudent wartime censor. Nothing. Again. How is anyone supposed to get into an industry if you already have to be working in it to get anywhere?

"Any luck this week?" I jumped as the fake-smiling waitress butted into my thoughts, pulling me out of my self-doubt. I wanted to grimace at the thought of sharing another conversation with her, but my coffee was empty and at least I'm a good enough actor to play my way through conversational niceties.

"Nothing," I replied, "it's like the parts have been written just to exclude me personally."

"I dunno if you'd be interested, but after I saw you last I got chatting to my brother. Told him that there was a guy in the shop down in the dumps because he couldn't get a role".

Her brother? Why would I be interested in what her brother had to say?

"Your brother?" I asked, feigning interest.

"He's a film writer down on Harkam Street. Does little indie flicks. You heard of them?"

I felt my ears physically perk up - Harkam Street? THE Harkam Street Studios? Producers of 'The Silent Office' and 'Kindle', winner of five golden wreaths and... Stuccon? I looked at her name badge.

"Angela Stuccon? Your brother is CHARLES Stuccon?"

"You heard of him?"

"Heard of him? He's the greatest director in the city! He's never made it into the public eye, but he's one of the best art directors out there! Brave, raw, challenging..."

"Well, he's having trouble filling a part in his new flick - no speaking, but it's better than nothing right?"

I looked up at her, a grin forming. It was an extra role, sure, but any role in a Stuccon film would be worth its weight in gold when it came to other auditions. This was it, my in! I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure.

"Angela, thank you. Let your brother know that I'd love to be in his film." Suddenly, an awkward question formed in my mind, and I paused for a moment. I didn't want to risk souring the situation, but after a few moments, I had to ask.

"Angela, why would the Charles Stuccon have difficulty finding actors?"

---

When I got home later that day, I immediately collapsed on my sofa. Staring up at the ceiling, I considered my position. Angela hadn't even missed a beat when she told me - it was a nude scene, and Charles Stuccon wasn't a man to hide from showing full frontal nudity on camera.

I rolled the description of the scene that Angela had given around in my head - she'd not seemed even remotely phased when describing it, leading me to believe that she must be more aware of her brother's films than I expected.

The film follows a man with marital problems, struggling to come to terms with his bisexuality and being stuck in a loveless relationship. In one scene, he travels to a gay bath house, and Stuccon was in need of extras to strip off and fill out the background of the set.

Because of the nature of the role, it hadn't received the number of candidates they'd expected - new actors were too nervous about the effect that debuting in the buff in a gay bath house scene could have on their careers, and established actors were too fussy about just how much flesh they were contractually allowed to show.

I'm not usually the type to be self-conscious about my body. I had no problem stripping off for medical exams, or using the communal showers at the gym. In my younger years I'd even gone streaking across campus in broad daylight - but this was something different. Once I'd been naked on film, it was forever, and it would be part of my career for better and for worse.

A wave of resolve washed over me - this was a once in a lifetime chance. I had to go for it, it was the only thing close to a break I'd ever gotten. If showing my sheath to the world was what I had to do to get screentime in a Charles Stuccon movie, then I made up my mind that I'd bare my fur and show my sheath to the world.

I suddenly became aware of an uncomfortable pressure in my crotch - playing the scene through in my head had made my cock rock hard, and it was pressing frustratedly against my jeans.

Great, another problem.

---

In the weeks leading up to the job, I spent more time at the coffee shop, and Angela and I started to become good friends. I came to realise that her initially vapid exterior hid someone of high intelligence - she was incredibly well read, and had a remarkable ability to see to the heart of any problem and solve it in a blunt, honest statement. She was similar to her brother's films in that regard, and I'd started to feel bad for judging her so harshly when we first met.

The day before the shoot, she spied a headline on the paper I was reading and sat down opposite me. She'd obviously decided it was her break. I nodded through as she quickly and precisely summarised her opinions on tax and healthcare, not really following - I'd been staring at the paper for ten minutes, but I'd not been paying any attention to it. My mind was clouded with thoughts of the shoot the next day.

"So what's bugging you?" She said, not even waiting for my reply. I felt my ears droop, embarrassed to admit what was on my mind to someone I'd only known for a little over a month. But, as I expected, she was determined to drag it out of me. "Worried about stripping off tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but also..." I lowered my head, as though hiding behind my paper would hide the sound of our conversation from the other people in the cafe. "...what if I get hard?".

She just laughed. "Hun, I've visited the set of every film Charlie's ever made. Let me tell you, there's nothing less arousing than acting in the nude. It's so awkward and mechanical that nobody seems to enjoy it."

"But still, when I think about it..."

"If you're really worried, just jerk it into oblivion the morning before you leave." I was speechless, this was blunt even for her - but she just grinned, I think she was enjoying making me squirm. "Just spank it and spank it and spank it until you can't even get hard anymore. That way, even if you want to get hard on set, you won't be able to."

"I... I'll think think about it." I said, just wanting to end the conversation.

---

On the morning of the job, I spent twice as long as usual in the shower. I removed all the knots from my fur, trimmed the uneven parts, and made sure that every last inch of myself was spotless ready for my 'big debut'. Afterwards, I walked into the bedroom and opened my wardrobe to get a good look at myself in the mirror that was inset into the door.

After a few moments, I towel drop to the floor and studied himself - not narcissistically, of course, but objectively, vanity has never been a flaw of mine - trying to spot anything odd or out of place that I wouldn't want immortalised in film. Everything seemed fine - my coarse cream fur had responded well to the grooming and now shone slightly in the light, and while my build was still average, two weeks of avoiding snacks had firmed up my stomach a little. Between my legs hung my balls with my sheath pert above them - I'd left some of the scruffy pubic fur in place above, after coming to the conclusion that the porn-star "perfecty even and conditioned crotchfur" look was going too far. I turned around and attempted to look at my back in the mirror - after a few struggling moments it all seemed fine and I decided not to bother any further.

I picked the towel off the floor, gave it a shake, and then spread it out over the bed. Lying on it, I turned on my TV and began to flick through the porn collection stored on a USB in the side of the set. I hated to admit it, but Angela was right, the most sure-fire way to eliminate the threat of a career-ruining erection was to thoroughly tire myself out before I got to the set.

Scrolling through the movies I'd downloaded did nothing to alleviate the butterflies in my chest, and eventually I had to force myself to pick a film at random - something about wolves having sex in the back room of a bar that they run. It was one I'd watched it before, and the first time I'd seen it the well endowed black wolves had caused me to blow my load half way through the first scene. I reached down, stroking my fingers over my plump sheath as the pink tip of my cock slipped free - this film was as good a choice as any.

--

On set, I was shown to the dressing room by a short cougar and instructed to get into costume. As my costume consisted entirely of walking around with my sheath out, I was offered a simple bathrobe to wrap around myself if I wanted to keep my modesty on set. I considered asking what people usually do, but for the sake of pretending to be professional I made up my mind and politely declined. What was the point? Now that I'd finally psyched myself up to go through with this scene, revealing myself to the crew seemed inconsequential compared to revealing myself to the entirety of the art world.

I found myself an empty locker, placed my coat inside, and began to undress. I stifled a shiver as the cold air hit my fur, frowning slightly as I pulled off my boxers and noticed the cold was causing my nuts to hug tight into my body, my sheath noticeably smaller than usual. I piled my clothing nearly in the locker, and hoped that the temperature of the set would be more flattering.

Padding gingerly through the corridors that connected the dressing room to the set, I was reminded of a nightmare I'd had as a child. I was eating lunch in the school cafeteria when I suddenly realised that I was naked - yes, it was one of those dreams - and now the alien feeling of being cold, exposed, and out of place came back to haunt me. The corridors were such a maze that I had visions of myself crashing stark naked into the wrong set, maybe a live chat show or something. I shook my head as if to shake loose these thoughts, and as I began to pass other actors and crew members without them batting an eyelid, I slowly began to forget that I was naked at all.

Eventually I arrived at the set where my scene was to be filmed. It consisted of a large communal area that I guessed was supposed to be a sauna, two hollow corridors and a smaller "private" room. I familiarised himself with the layout so that I wouldn't fluster when they sent me to my mark.

As I looked around, my attention was drawn to a tall man in his 40s with a commanding presence as he wandered the set moving props - a towel here, a lamp there. As he turned around, I saw his face and realised that the man was none other than Charles Stuccon. I couldn't let an opportunity like this slip away.

"Charles?" I said, walking towards him, "I hope you don't mind me interrupting. I just wanted to say that I'm a huge fan of your films, this is an honour."

Charles smiled, and shook my hand. "The honour is all mine!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm, in the same thick American accent as his sister, "Nothing makes me happier than meeting a fan. What's your name?"

"Ryan" I replied, as my hero looked me over from head to toe. I suddenly felt incredibly naked, and for the first time regretted not taking the cougar's robe.

"One of the sauna extras?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question. Then, a look of recognition lit up his face. "Oh, you're Angela's actor! Well Ryan, I like you. I like your attitude. I'll make sure you get a lot of screen time. Now, if you don't mind, I think one of my aides is looking for you." He gestured towards the cougar from before, who was now wandering around with a clipboard calling people's names.

"Thanks." I made myself smile, unconvinced that more screen time in the buff was a good thing. Briefly, I wondered if Angela was actually there, she had said that she'd been on the set of every one of his films. For the second time, I regretted not taking the robe.

My part was simple - the main character was to walk down a corridor, and the extras just needed to walk through the background to make the set look populated. Charles was true to his word, and when the aide came to show me to my spot, he pointed me towards the back of the set and told me that I had a prominent role waking directly towards the camera. It was then I realised how much I'd been secretly hoping for a part that would allow me to tastefully conceal myself, but I had to force the doubts from my head - I was there, and I'd committed. And it was a great role. With the Charles Stuccon.

"ROLLING!" came a cry from the other end of the set.

"And... ACTION!" came the reply. No turning back now.

I convinced myself that I was heading to a room on the far side of the corridor to meet up with someone I'd met in the main room. Maybe a cute young fox. Look straight ahead, I used this as my motivation and my distraction.

About halfway down the fake corridor I passed the lead actor. The first I time I saw him, I felt my eyes wandering over him - a black wolf, tall and faintly muscular, with thick chestfur. Dressed in nothing but a towel, it was easy to make out the prominent bulge of his sheath. Under normal circumstances that probably would have been enough to make my sheath swell, but thanks to Angela's advice it behaved itself, though I became painfully aware of how it swayed as I walked. It was definitely warmer in here than in the dressing room.

Don't think about it, keep looking forward.

"CUT!" came the booming voice from the set.

I breathed a sigh of relief - despite the fact that the short scene had seemed to last an eternity, it really hadn't been that bad.

We all had to repeat the scene a dozen or so times until Stuccon was happy with it all, but it got easier and more natural with each shot. By the time they'd called it a wrap and sent me back to the green room to grab a cup of coffee and my clothes, it almost felt unnatural to be dressed again.

I relaxed against the sofa, mulling the day over in my head. The fact that I'd done a nude scene still hadn't really sunk in - it felt surreal, like something that had happened to someone else. I was so lost in thought that I barely noticed the cougar standing over me. He was obviously flustered about something.

"Ryan?" he began, quickly "My name is Rolf, you met me earlier on set."

"I remember, what's the matter?"

"One of the actors hasn't turned up, and we need to start filming! Charles was impressed with you earlier - he wants you to take over his part. It's a speaking role, a big step up from what you were."

I barely suppressed a grin "A speaking role! Of course! What part was he supposed to play?"

"Michaello. Did you read the script? Do you remember the part?"

I cast my mind back over the script, mentally scanning for male roles - I'd only flicked through the parts that didn't involve me, so it took a while for it to click. I felt a blush form on my cheeks - this time, I couldn't stop it.

"Michaello? T-the sex scene?" I stammered.

"Yes - though only simulated, of course. He'll put his muzzle between your legs, you'll act like you're enjoying it. They say that acting in sex scenes is the least sexy thing you can do, so I don't worry about it."

"Yeah, I've heard that before. I... can I think about this?"

"Please take it." he shot back, almost immediately. It was clear that he was desperate. "Charles is a passionate man, and he says that you and the lead have chemistry, that you were shooting looks at each other in the corridor scene - it'll play well, good continuity. If you don't take the part, he'll probably shut down production of the film."

The thought of the toned wolf flashed through my mind again, and I agreed. Before I knew it I

was walking naked down the corridors towards the bath house set for the second time that day. They'd given me some time with the script to learn the few lines that Michaello had, and I was confident I could remember them. Still, despite this, I was more nervous than I'd ever been.

I took my position on the side of the bed that was to be used for Michaello's encounter, facing the door.

"ROLLING!" came a cry.

"Aaaannd... action!" came the final nail in the coffin of my modesty.

The set door opened, and in walked the black wolf from earlier, still wearing his towel. This time, I let myself get an eyeful. He was definitely a big guy, even from across the room I could make out the outline of his balls through the fabric.

Shutting the door behind him, he hovered nervously on the other side of the room.

"You here to go, or what?" I said, the edge of pure, barely contained lust in my voice not entirely faked.

The wolf responded by shyly dropping his towel onto the cold tiled floor of the set. Involuntarily, I let out a playful growl at the sight - I didn't need to act to show appreciation of this. The wolf's sheath stood proudly, unaroused but naturally firm and pert.

I didn't get long to enjoy the view before the wolf moved forward, pushing apart my legs and pushing his muzzle into my crotch with a sigh of relief, as though shedding the last of his repression. As the cougar had said, he held back just before his nose hit my crotch-fur, hovering his muzzle just centimetres away from my sheath, and began to mime the motions of oral sex. I mimed along too, making grunting noises and rocking my hips in time with the wolf's movements.

It wasn't long before I realised that the cougar had been wrong. Even without any physical contact, despite having masturbated three times that morning, I couldn't help but get turned on by the naked wolf between my legs, and his hot breath washed over my sheath with each motion, eliciting a faint swell.

I wasn't sure what the etiquette was in this situation. Should I call a stop to the filming? "Sorry Charles, I'm hard, take two!". I tried to think of a way to subtly alert the wolf to slow down, or move further away - but it was no use. The rising panic of the situation did nothing to dissuade my cock, which began to poke free of my sheath, sliding its way to freedom as the wolf moaned between my thighs. I braced myself for a cry of disgust as the wolf noticed my lack of self control, but it never came. Instead, I felt a warm flick over the tip of my cock, followed by a sudden surrounding feeling of wetness. I looked down to see the wolf with a muzzle half full of coyote cock. My dick screamed in triumph with each lick, like it wanted to show him that it had been right all along, but I felt an overwhelming embarrassment as I realised my situation. I considered telling the crew to stop - I was well within my rights to say this had all gone too far and I was uncomfortable - but amidst all the chaos in my mind, two sudden realisations came to me.

Charles hasn't cut the scene. And fuck, we both want this.

It felt like some kind of demon had possessed me, and I made a conscious decision to run with it. With all feelings of shame melting away, I bucked my hips into the wolf's muzzle, grinding the underside of my dick against his tongue. The wolf responded by gripping my cock by the hilt and taking it deep into his maw. He bobbed over my cock with a quick, sloppy but passionate pace. He was either doing an excellent job of acting like it was his first time sucking a dick or it actually was, but either way his tongue sent teasing waves of pleasure down my shaft.

As I grew closer, the wolf responded with a firmer paw and a quicker pace, until it was all too much. I felt a surge flow through my body, my cock throbbed, and I came. The wolf took the first two shots across his tongue, and then, reviling the taste, spat it onto the tiled floor and let the remaining shots coat his black muzzle with thick white cum.

We both stayed perfectly still for a moment, me panting on the side of the bed, and the wolf knelt on the floor feeling warm cum rolling down his face. He leant back, and I could see that he was hard too - a thin strand of pre linked his eager cock with the floor below.

"CUT! That's a wrap!" came a voice from the other side of the set, breaking the tense moment and giving both of us a heavy start. The wolf got to his feet, wiping the trail of pre from his still hard cock with his paw as though he was doing nothing more sexual than wiping crumbs from his shirt, gave me a short nod, mumbled something about being needed in wardrobe and wandered off.

Not long after, Charles Stuccon came hurrying over. I avoided his gaze - he had to be furious - the newbie he'd given a pity role to had taken an emotional, arty film and turned it into porn. My spent cock gave another, half-mast throb, and I felt incredibly naked again.

Moments later, I felt his hand on mine. I was so sure that he wanted to kick me off his set that it took me a few seconds to realise that he was shaking my paw.

"Perfect! In one take You two were so into your characters! It's like this entire film will be a living, breathing thing!"

"You're not... angry?" I replied sheepishly, still lost and confused.

"Angry? Why would I be angry! That was totally method! That was perfect! Cinema shies away from sex, hiding it with euphemisms and tasteful angles. This is raw, this is shocking. This is ART!"

I wasn't sure what to say. Here I was, sat naked next to my hero, my cock semi-hard and dripping seed from the encounter onto the set floor. I said the only thing that came to mind.

"Well... I am a method actor."