FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Emotion vs Logic

by Colin Leighton

That spring, Roy and Eric always began their days on the balcony of Roy's apartment. Reckless, perhaps, for a couple of guys to fuck out where you might possibly be seen, but they always did it on the floor of the balcony, or on a blanket laid over it, rather; not leaning against the rail, sending your climax shooting out into the air, as is done in scandalous movies. It was never like that, like a scene from a porn flic or a romance novel, just a wolf and a fox enjoying each other's company. They almost always did it face to face, so that as shaft drove under tail, their muzzles caressed each other lovingly, and as the sun rose, whoever was the upper of the pair could feel its rays of warmth upon the bare fur of his back. Roy always thought that this was when Eric looked the best, as the sunrise seemed to bring out the fox's varying hues of red and russet and orange better than indoor lighting ever could. Eric said he was just being sentimental.

Afterward they'd lay there, sticky and panting as couples often are after lovemaking. Sometimes they were silent, looking out towards the red hills of Arizona, but often they would talk in those moments. Their conversation was always idealistic on Roy's part and realistic on Eric's. "I looked at apartments in New York" Roy said one day. "I found advertisements for several that we can afford, and not in bad neighbourhoods."

"That's good" Eric said. He had not told the wolf about the scholarship to Oxford.

In the early days of their affair Eric had not given much thought to the realities of their relationship. They had met in the same fashion as many college couples, at a club, to which Roy had gone with a few friends; he was not usually of the club-going sort. Eric had thought, what a cute wolf, and at the time, the fact that Roy was a theatre arts major, who did not talk always of atoms or genetic coding, as did Eric's STEM friends, was a breath of fresh air.

He thought: maybe I've had enough hook-ups. Maybe I can handle a real relationship for a change. His friends, some of whom were obviously or not-so-obviously lusting after him themselves, said: "It's not logical, Eric. You'll be graduating next spring. You'll have senior seminar. You don't have time for a boyfriend."

He told them he could manage both, and that Roy, for all their world of differences, was fun; he was interesting and clever and highly educated, if in very different quadrants than Eric. Whether Eric ever intended for the relationship to be long term, though, was questionable. That was something he never took the time to define.

Roy, however, was in love. That he loved the fox was beyond doubt; he knew well the sensation of romance, how just the thought of the black ears and red muzzle could make him feel all impassioned within, and like all young lovers, he thought nothing could come between him and his lover. "My play is near done" he told Eric, as mention of apartments had not seemed to interest the fox.

"So did you decide on an ending, then?"

Roy replied that he hadn't; the inspiration had eluded him. "It will come, though. It always does."

Eric had no faith in imagination. Imagination could not be measured or controlled or predicted, as could facts, as could science. They worshipped opposing Gods, those two, although neither could be found in a church; Eric worshipped science, and Roy emotion or intuition, and in this was they were opposites; Roy eternally impractical; Eric doing only what was logical, or practical.

He had thus not expected Roy to delve so seriously into their affair. The wolf seemed to assume without asking that they might possibly be forever bound together, marriage-possible, even. Eric did not tell him when he started applying to distant colleges.

"At any rate, I'll have it done by graduation. Might even make a little money...." The wolf's ears perked hopefully. The pair had gone back into the apartment, and he'd sprawled across the bed, watching the naked fox clean off his sheath with a tissue. "I can't wait to finally move in with you."

Back at Christmas, when Roy had came out to his parents, including the detail that he had a boyfriend, and they, predictably, had disowned him for it, Eric had felt guilty. He'd thought of them as having a little fun, not a serious matter, and now the wolf had gone and lost his family over it. Love is irrational, he told himself. It can't be controlled. It can't be defined. It's not for me.

"Are you sure you want that?" he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I won't be around much, getting my PHD. You'd be there alone most of the time."

"I'm a writer; I don't mind being alone" the wolf responded. "I won't hold you back. We do need to start thinking about apartments, though."

That again. "Later" Eric waved a paw. The other paw reached for the wolf's groin. "In the meantime...." He pushed down the sheath.

"I got off earlier" Roy countered, but he did not protest when the tongue began to lap at him, getting him hard again. "You didn't need to...ooooh."

In so much as sex was concerned, Eric prided himself at being a multi-tasker; he could suck dick, and be good at it - sliding his tongue along, slurping, and teasing a finger under the wolf's tail - and still keep his head, thinking. Foxes were good at that. He'd have to tell the wolf soon, as graduation was only two weeks away - and his flight to London, only a week after that. He did not want the breakup weighing on his mind closer to that, certainly not.

Roy had his head hanging back, against the pillows of his bed, and Eric looked up at him, and felt a slight twinge of guilt. It had been fun, and Roy was a nice guy. But relationships ended, and if people were realistic, as all should be (but Roy was not), then they would understand that. He had a career to think of. He was not one of those people who find a soulmate - a concept he didn't believe in anyway - early and then settles down with them. That was for stereotypical straight couples, or gay guys who wanted to imitate them, or people who lacked ambition. Not for him.

After he'd got the wolf off, and gone to the bathroom to spit and wash out his mouth, he walked back out to the bedroom. Roy was waiting for him. "Want to cuddle?"

Roy always wanted to cuddle after sex. "No."

"I can return the favour..." the wolf's tail thwapped the bed.

"Look, Roy." He cleared his throat. "I don't know how to say this, but..."

"Yes?"

He told him the truth in plain words; sugar-coating was for immature pups. He had got the scholarship offer to Oxford's genetic engineering program, and it was something he couldn't turn down. The kind of offer he could only dream of. But it came with a price.

The wolf didn't get it. "That's wonderful, Eric! I've always wanted to go to London. And they have an excellent drama community..."

Time to drop the bomb, or for reality to set in. The end of the fantasy. So he laid down the facts: he didn't intend Roy to accompany him. "I will not have time for a relationship," he said, watching the wolf's disbelieving face. "And I especially have no interest in a long distance affair. Besides, you can't afford to live in London, and I sure as hell can't afford to support you."

"My play.-" Roy began.

"Face it, Roy. I'm sorry, and you know, I believe in you, but you are an entirely unknown playwright. It will probably be years before any producer or director of any importance takes interest in one of your plays, and even then, you know better than to expect a high financial gain from it. If you wanted money from your career, you should have gone into business or technology." Lay clear the facts, make people acknowledge reality. As he had told his little brother there was no Santa Claus, as he'd made his parents accept that he was gay, as he had challenged that congressional candidate at the public debate. Face the facts, or get out.

The wolf swallowed. "You're breaking up with me." His voice wavered.

"I guess that's what it is" Eric said. "Look, we've had our fun, but this was a college affair. It's time for us to move on with our own lives. I don't have the time for you, and if you're honest with yourself, you'll see I'm no asset to you either. You're not a big-city guy. Even with Broadway being there, you were only planning to move to the big apple because you thought I would be there."

He'd started putting on his clothes. There was no reason to drag these things out.

Roy hadn't moved. "I thought you loved me." It came out sounding incredibly childish and silly. Perhaps he was no better than a lovesick teenager, in need of a dose of maturity.

"It was a lust-and-emotion driven fling, Roy." He started buttoning his shirt. "There was never any chance of it lasting." Shirt buttoned, now jacket. "Hey, and besides. Think of it this way - I'm going into cancer research, eventually. I'm going to help society. Isn't that a better ideal than being a in a relationship?" Roy was always going on about ideals; perhaps if Eric spoke in the wolf's own language, then he might convey what he was trying to say.

"You can do both. Help society and be in love" Roy whispered. "I write plays to inspire people, which helps society just as much as anything physical."

The more the wolf talked, the more Eric could see just how unrealistic and detached he was from reality, and it strengthened his resolve. "Inspiration cannot feed the homeless, Roy. It does not put a roof over the heads of those who lack it, or cloth the clothless, or cure them of disease." He shook his head. Oh well, one cannot convince those who live in the dreamworlds of their idealism to see reality. "Look, it's been nice knowing you, and I wish you only the best. Look me up sometime if you're in London."

He'd thought Roy might cry, but the wolf was staring at him with what was probably the most emotionless expression Eric had ever seen on him. "I gave up everything for us" he whispered. "I walked away from my family, I sold my personal library so we could afford a place in New York, I quit my job....."

Eric picked up his satchel and paused, paw on the doorknob. "Then you were a fool," he said softly. "Goodbye, Roy."

He closed the door and walked away, and they never saw each other again. Eric finished his senior seminar, and graduated, and got pats on the back from his STEM friends when he announced his imminent move to London, and got great recommendations from all his professors. They all said he was going to be a great scientist, like Einstein or Turing or Curie. His parents clapped and cameras clicked and he felt pretty swell. The after-graduation party had over three hundred attendants.

Roy did not have a party, nor did his family attend, nor did many paws clap when he received his diploma. Instead he sat at his laptop in silence and wrote the last scene of the play. On the same day that Eric flew to London, he flew to New York to start attempting to draw director attention to it.

Roy might have been a prophet. The play was extremely successful. "Relatable to the heart of every college romance," the critics raved. "The playwright's grasp for the battle between heart and head shows a rare insight into the intricacies of the sensation we call love." Much speculation was posed as to the identity of the play's mysterious author, Roy MacDiarmid. Alone in his hotel room, Roy did not respond to the speculation, or to the simple note from Eric: "Heard your play went well. Good job."

Three days after the premier of his play, Roy mailed two letters, filled the pockets of his military jacket with rocks, and walked calmly into the dark waters of the Potomac. Eric did not hear about the discovery of the body from the seven o'clock news as he was fucking an otter lab technician in an Oxford laboratory supply closet.