Love at First Touch
He tossed and turned in his bed shaped like a sleek red race car. His bedding, so carefully arranged by his mother while he was riding the bus to school that morning, was now a tangled mess. The top sheet was wrapped around his leg in a most uncomfortable way, nearly tied around it like a knot with the majority of the fabric thrown off the bed. The comforter had been bunched up and knocked to the floor and gathered up and spread out again so many times that he was nearly winded from all the frustrated effort. It was flannel and uncomfortably warm in the late spring. The top sheet, so cool and easy to slip into at first, was now just more oppressive heat. Even his fur was conspiring against his comfort. But sleeping in an overly warm bed wasn't usually a problem for him. Why, he might have wondered if he thought of it, did it seem so ungodly uncomfortable tonight.
The feelings of physical discomfort were just a symptom. The real reason he couldn't sleep is that his heart and his confused young mind wouldn't let him. It was the night before the start of summer vacation. The girl he liked from class had sat next to him during the end of the year assembly. He didn't know where she lived and they never played outside of school, and he never got up the courage to tell her how he felt. He was all twisted up inside over the fact that it would be the entire summer before he got to see her again. That was the real reason his race car bed was now a furnace that refused to let him sleep.
He ran through their last moments together in his head.
She leaned over to put her lips next to his ear and his ear flicked, brushing against the bangs hanging down the front of her face. She smelled nice. The heat of her body was nice. He felt light all over and like his whole body was going to explode into a shower of buzzing pink confetti.
"This is so boring! I can't wait to get home." She had said to him.
He giggled and squirmed in his seat.
"What are you going to do when school is out?" She said, finished whispering she had turned her body to face him, waiting for a response.
He felt like the world had ended and he was alone with perfection; the sweet little girl that made his brain go to mush and his body go numb.
Just remembering how stupid he must have looked, so dumbfounded and blissful, staring into her face, drinking in the attention she was finally paying him after his months of silent prayer, he threw his blanket on the ground and kicked over and over till the sheet freed itself and was gone. He lay there, panting, in his saturday morning cartoon underwear.
She stared back as his goofy, blushing face, then made an "oh" expression of understanding. She leaned back in her chair and looked sidelong at him with the most mischievous smile he had ever seen. Her paw moved up and down from between her legs in a fist slowly and he had the impression she was making a joke.
He didn't get it. He felt terribly awkward and dumb.
The bell rang and she was gone.
He tried to count the little dots of stucco on the ceiling. Their texture was exaggerated by the light of a flickering nightlight across the room. He made his hand into the fist she had made and moved it slowly up and down at his crotch, trying to figure it out.
While he thought of her and of how he had felt, his underwear had become very tight. He looked down at the face of one of the cartoon characters printed on the briefs. It was grotesque and misshapen by the bulge of the tip of his little cub erection.
Curious, with the underdeveloped clockwork of what would one day be puberty's grand opus just barely starting to click and whir in his brain, he slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and exposed his thingie to the open air. Suddenly the heat of his body was flushed out by the cold of a glistening raccoon penis meeting open air.
He looked at his three inches of twitching maleness and then at his paw. He brought one to the other like he was the first raccoon to behold fire and make use of it. He slipped his fist gently over his prick and at once his back arched and he shook all over from a chill through his spine. He held himself for a moment and tried to catch his breath, though he didn't know why he should be panting.
He thought of the little girl he wanted to be with and the way she had moved her hand and he did the same, his tongue slipping from the side of his mouth as he rolled over and began drooling on the bed. He was whimpering loudly, though he hardly realized. Memories of her danced through his mind so fast that he hardly had time to enjoy them, but then he felt his ear brushing against her bangs and the heat of her body again. The memory was so vivid that it was as if he turned back time by rubbing the thing he had only ever peed through.
He arched his back and cried out loudly. His young voice sounded so strange and pitiful carrying on in passion drenched moans. His hips bucked and he stuffed his face in his pillow as a warmth flooded his body from his hand and his cock. First he felt hot and filled with ecstasy, then electricity tingled in his fingers and toes and at the tips of his ears and nose. His fur was standing on end and his mind was utterly empty. Then, there was nothing. There was a pure and blissful nothing that he was granted, where he was born again and shed every vestige of life before his cock and his hand and this amazing feeling.
He lay there holding himself, breathing slowly, staring at the wall and not worried at all about being unable to sleep. He didn't hear the knock at his bedroom door. He didn't care that he could see a thin strip of light around the door from the hall grow wider and fill his room as his mother asked "Are you ok? Were you crying?"
Somewhere, though, in the back of his mind, there was a slow fade-in back to a reality that told him he had just done something naughty and that his mother was about to see him clutching his hard dick tightly, but he didn't know enough about what he was doing to understand why he should try and hide.
It didn't matter anyway, his blanket was on the floor and he was still too lost in pleasure to register those thoughts of modesty before his mother would emerge from the light of the hallway. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the pleasure of his first climax.