FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

--1

Art college for a talented young painter was an obvious choice. Harlem filled his schedule ambitiously and despite many a pantsless weekend playing video games and killing six packs balanced with maintaining a figure, he was getting his money's worth for his education. It came down to sacrifice: He wasn't getting laid anymore. There was just no time for courting the men and women his age even if they gave him obvious seductive looks. Whenever he was actually interested in somebody and they so happened to reciprocate, classes bore down on him hard; drinking and Grand Theft Auto took the edge off; and then he spent another weekend jerking off. Being a freshman was hectic.

Though maybe a slob in practice, Harlem was fit and athletic. As a Great Dane he was considerably tall and his white body and gray marks set him apart from most of the other students. He often appeared in his classes looking harried but nice in tight beaters and gym shorts, typically still a little swampy with sweat. Fortunately for Harlem, nobody else cleaned up any better than he did.

The Dane showed up to anatomy class with his notebook, it being more of a scratch pad for naughty doodles when the lessons were beneath him or just too stuffy to bear, though anatomy class could enrapture him for all the wrong reasons. He was guilty of scoping out the models and excusing himself from class accordingly even when he needed the practice. Being a freshman, that was always.

Harlem milled into the classroom with his notebook against his chest, and he idly drummed upon it. He smiled at the students he knew well enough to have played a few games or shared some beer with, and the ones he didn't know got more respectful nods as he settled in. Lethargic from last night's late exercise and relative sleeplessness, he plopped his notebook in his lap and glanced at his canvas. He ended up staring blankly at it while the instructor talked about the specific groups of muscles their model was a fine example of.

From the first moment the model padded into the room wearing not a thing but a towel tied on like a kilt, Harlem's sleepiness abated and his ears snapped up and erect. He looked over his peers' heads and watched the model near. Everybody was staring as the model mounted up on the platform in the dead center of the classroom. There he shucked his towel and knelt. Like a concubine, he leaned backwards and put his weight on both palms behind his back. Out pouted a slender chest with tight, effeminate lines offering only the slightest hint of his ribs.

While the other students worked through the various stages of painting, some studying their particular angles and others dabbing their brushes, Harlem stared like a horndog and he lamented skipping his morning jerk. He had painted enough foxes to know one when he saw one, but the boy on display had raccoon marks and very long and silky blonde hair. This was undoubtedly the most disastrous of prettyboys a pent-up Dane like Harlem could encounter in the middle of a dry spell. If it had been at a party they could have fooled around, but here he was off-limits - a display model not for personal use. The dog sighed through his heavy jowls, pressed his legs more tightly together and crimped his balls with hopes to head off his cock before it woke up.

Harlem spent so much time helplessly gawking that by the time the other students had all painted their own angles of the foxcoon, Harlem was in the middle of reverently tracing every starting line. It was clear to see from the excessive detail on his canvas that the model was of special interest to him. As the instructor padded along the perimeter of the room, him being a ferret with a long body and a consequently slinking walk, he peered over the students' shoulders and hummed thoughtfully at their work. To Harlem's work he gave no particular hum, but the Dane felt self-conscious and found himself hurriedly laying down the rest of the body. The end result was less than stellar.

"Now if you'd all care to switch to fresh canvases," said the ferret upon completing his rounds, "Desmond here will assume a new pose for you." As the twink stretched and swished his tail, Harlem watched with utter vacancy. His penis had begun to swell in his shorts despite his efforts and it tipped his notebook off his lap and onto the floor.

The noise caught Desmond's attention. He glanced at Harlem with keen eyes and a suddenly mischievous smile and it became clear to the dog that Desmond knew a look of gay desperation when he saw one. The dog was flustered, but he was damned sure he saw Desmond wink. When the twink lay upon his side and thus exposed his behind to the Dane at a direct angle, there was no question that he was being teased.

Harlem was last and therefore most conspicuous in switching canvases and he did so with a badly-hidden erection which was impressive but all the more humiliating given the context. The ferret smoothed things over with an authoritative clearing of his throat and the students ceased their gossipy murmur. The thought crossed Harlem's mind to crack a joke: It's like being back in puberty, thing's got a mind of it's own. Then he thought: You idiot, keep your mouth shut!

Everyone started to paint again. Harlem captured Desmond's ass and the coinpurse of his scrotum in exquisite detail, the rest not so much. Harlem sat before his canvas, alternating between glances at Desmond's shapely hindquarters and his faithful portrayal of them with a sense of pride.

Harlem changed canvases for the last time as did the rest of the class. The ferret made to instruct Desmond to one last rehearsed pose but the twink slunk off of his platform and leaned across the instructor's desk. In hushed whispers they spoke, their words inaudible even to keen ears like Harlem's. The Great Dane didn't particularly want to know what a sultry thing like that was saying to the instructor.

"Hum, well," the ferret said as he wrung his paws, "ordinarily I wouldn't honor a request like this, however we are in a college that prides itself on its liberal stance, therefore..." He stood and rose high above his desk. "Desmond here," he gestured to the fox, "is an open homosexual, and he believes the class would do well to portray a scene of male romance." His delivery was even, his face stone. Harlem couldn't think of one time the ferret had ever corpsed and he didn't start doing it now.

It was the implication of what was coming that hit Harlem hardest. Either he was going to have to watch some other man's paws touch that slim, perfect body or he himself was going to be called upon. It was dicey either way, and if he left - which nobody else had done yet - he'd be a rumored homophobe.

"Well," Desmond murmured as he surveyed the faces, "any takers?" He smiled disarmingly, padding to the platform and again slipping up onto it. "A straight man, content in his sexuality, will work just as well. Hmm...?" His eyes drifted across the crowd, lingered on Harlem and then moved on.

Nobody was biting. How could that be? Harlem knew some of the men in the class. One of them had given him a drunk handjob. Nobody wanted the twink? He couldn't stomach that reality. "Uh," the Dane bleated, standing up and having mercifully lost his erection, "I--, I'll volunteer. I mean, why not?"

And so the Dane hesitantly shed his clothes to no laughter or fanfare but the students did whisper. His sexuality was a dubious secret in that he'd tell anybody who asked but he volunteered it to no one. Apparently that had just changed. He knelt on the platform near Desmond and the twink descended upon him with a worshipful touch. "Hmm," said Desmond, "let's find a good pose together, shall we?" As if they were dancing, he took Harlem's paw, eased it around his back and guided the dog to in turn guide him. "Move me how you want," he said quietly. "That's it... Hold me close. Very nice, you've got a strong, masculine touch."

"This is kinda new to me," Harlem smiled. "I've, um," he glanced around, "never been an anatomy model."

It was the ferret whom spoke up, pushing his glasses up his short snout as he did. "There's no shame in the art of nude posing, Harlem. I myself find that any kind of romantic expression is a vital concept."

Soon Harlem and Desmond found a pose which worked for themselves and the class. It offered their bodies in profile best of all. The Dane knelt with one leg on the platform and the other hanging off the edge. Desmond had a foot on the pedestal but the other leg was bent and resting at a slight angle on Harlem's knee. With his stout arms, Harlem held Desmond around his middle, a touch Desmond half-returned, for one of his paws held the back of the dog's head sweetly. Harlem could not stifle the bulge in his sheath but he seemed to have shed his shyness along with his clothes. Like so, they kept very nearly still with noses nearly touching and gazes meeting freely.

Harlem had expected the posture to be a difficult one to keep but Desmond was light in his arms and holding him was a joy. They whispered and smiled as they held their pose for the better part of twenty minutes, their eyes never deviating. All around them, the students captured the cute moment together in varying detail from every angle. Both Harlem and Desmond would later look at the sketches and think on them as mementos of a fine day.

Once the session had come to a close, Harlem joined Desmond in the adjacent dressing room. He watched with a bit of disappointment as the foxcoon dressed up again. Candidly he said, "I've never met anybody named Desmond before."

Desmond smiled wryly as he buttoned up his jeans. "I've never met someone named Harlem. Tell me, do you globetrot?" he teased.

"Never heard that one before - no, really. Usually people ask if I shake," the dog said with an eye-roll. "Desmond, though, that's a really cute name," he said while the twink slipped his shirt on. He found himself surprised that Desmond looked just as good in clothing. He liked even more the blushing smile Desmond sported after the compliment. "Even though I've never met a Desmond before, I... I dunno, seems to me like it's the perfect name for someone like you."

"You don't write poetry, do you?" Desmond asked with a very sly grin.

The Dane found the grin infectious. He glanced aside but kept his eyes locked on Desmond. "Nah. Why do you ask?"

"Because you're shit with words," the fox laughed. "I don't mind it. It's cute." A beat. "It's sincere. You look, uh, kinda like a frat boy type. You know - chase pussy, drink beer, act like a dick."

"Replace pussy with ass, and I enjoy those activities sometimes," Harlem said sheepishly. "I just try to keep it in line."

Desmond padded up to Harlem, reached for his ears and used them to playfully pull the Dane down for a smooch on the lips. Harlem wagged his tail and reached for Desmond's flanks but the fox pulled away and smiled. "Try to keep it in line when you see me again," he chuckled. Harlem started to open his mouth, but Desmond gently closed it with a paw. "Don't ask. I work nights at the cafeteria. And no, that doesn't mean you're getting free food," he toothily grinned.

Just like that, Desmond sauntered out of Harlem's life. He didn't have to make any kind of note, mental or otherwise, to go see Desmond. It came to be that Harlem was outright infatuated with the foxcoon and there was no hope of thinking of anything else.

--2

Harlem only came to the cafeteria on nights when he was buzzed and without friends to hang out with. He realized that he had seen Desmond plenty of times, but he had never noticed the twink. Seeing him with a clear head and eager eyes made it clear why: Desmond looked quite different at work. The frumpy apron and the hairnet did him no favors at all, but when Desmond spotted Harlem and his face lit up, the Dane remembered what he was falling for. Desmond beckoned him over and Harlem stepped near with a shy, dumb smile.

"There you are," Desmond said. "I was wondering if you were gonna show up or not."

"I didn't know when was a good time," Harlem shrugged. He started to smile. "I'm surprised you even put up with this job."

Desmond chuckled. "There's a lot of reasons someone might say that about a menial servitude position, but I'm gonna let you tell me specifically why," he grinned.

"The hairnet," answered Harlem, clasping his paws behind his back. "Putting all that pretty hair up where nobody can see it... I'd show it off all the time," he smiled. He didn't realize he was blushing, but Desmond saw it.

"Aw, that's cute," the foxcoon grinned. Harlem's blush worsened by a few shades. "Perving on my hair, it's adorable!"

Harlem bristled but laughed. "I'm not perving!"

"No? Not even a little?" Desmond winked. "You sure were when I was up on your knee, nose to nose with you, so close that you could smell my delicate scent..." Harlem smiled dreamily at the thought, right up until Desmond flatly added, "And I know you had a hard-on when you were painting."

"How did you know that?" the dog bleated.

Desmond shrugged. "For one, intuition. But secondly, you just told me," he grinned. "You want some key lime pie?"

"I thought you said you wouldn't get me any free food," Harlem said, pulling and sitting in one of the chairs by the counter.

The foxcoon pulled an innocuous slice of pie from a display case on the counter, and he slid it front of Harlem along with a plastic fork. "Well, you're being sweet on me, and I love that," he smiled. Harlem smiled too as he started to eat. "And it's close to throw-out time," he murmured, "and there was that horse fly, but..." He waved at the air to dismiss the notion. "I heard something about the fly being one of the cleanest creatures on the planet."

Harlem's mouth hung open mid-chew. Desmond waited a full three seconds before his expression cracked and he laughed. "I'm joking, you dumb dog! I'm just teasing you, jeez... It's a good thing you're pretty."

The dog smirked and ate his pie. He wouldn't admit it just yet, but the playful sass was endearing Desmond to him like nothing else. "You doing anything tomorrow?" he asked between bites.

"Sleeping until noon," Desmond grinned. "I get off at midnight. Then I've got another solid hour of drinking and working the glory hole I drilled down at the gas station."

Harlem sucked one of his jowls. "That's a joke, right?"

"Glory holes are no joke," Desmond said sternly. He winked, and Harlem couldn't tell what way to take it. Apparently his expression betrayed him, because Desmond rubbed the dog's nose and grinned. "I'm fucking with you, babe. I'm not that kinda guy. If I'm gonna sleep with someone, I wanna know them."

"Ah, hm," Harlem grunted. "Well, that's good to know."

Desmond leaned over the counter and chuckled near Harlem. Perhaps it was against his terms of employment, but he slyly accepted a bite of pie off of Harlem's fork. "Sorry if you were hoping for a quick lay, honey."

Harlem smiled thinly and had the last bite of his pie. "It's all right," he said, but he was quick to correct himself. "I mean, I wasn't expecting a quickie. I don't know if I'd want one."

The foxcoon put on a wry smile and he wrung his paws in a way that smacked of his raccoon genes. "You don't want a quick romp with me? Got it."

"I didn't mean it like that," Harlem groaned.

"Sugar, sugar, sugar," Desmond cooed, collecting Harlem's plate, "you are so-o-o easy to fuck with. I think I'm gonna love dating you."

An even dumber smile quirked up Harlem's face. "What, you wanna date me?"

"Jesus, it's a really good thing you're so pretty," Desmond groaned. Harlem laughed. "If it wasn't obvious from letting you cuddle up to me during anatomy class and from the fact that we're having this little chat, yes, I want you to take me to a nice dinner and then feel me up in a movie theater. Tomorrow night works for me."

For once, Harlem was quick on his feet. "All right, but since you're not gonna be putting out, we're getting McDonald's," he smiled.

"Sounds romantic. Sophisticated as hell," Desmond winked. He leaned in close to smooch with Harlem but he yanked himself back in an instant. "Look at that, it's midnight! Time to close up, so get lost," he grinned.

"How much for the pie?" Harlem insisted.

"Free, babe," Desmond said with his paws planted on the counter, arms locked straight.

But the dog shook his head and stood up as if to reach for his wallet. "I don't like handouts," he said sternly - and then he grabbed Desmond by the shoulders, pulled him close and kissed him hard. Desmond blushed and his eyes popped wide open. By the time Harlem let him go, Desmond was smiling as dumbly as the Dane had once been. "That ought to cover it, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Desmond giggled. "Save some of that for the movie theater, sugar."

--3

Come the next night, Harlem found Desmond in the cafeteria but he was there as a customer, sipping coffee by himself. He smiled at the sight of Harlem and they embraced, sharing a quick kiss.

The Great Dane took his date out on a leisurely walk, first around the pleasant grounds of the campus and then out into the surrounding town. Harlem held Desmond around the middle with a strong arm and Desmond contentedly took to being held as the smaller, more feminine of the two. Nobody batted an eye at the gay affection.

Along their walk, the golden arches came into view. Desmond sneered up at Harlem. "I hope you made a reservation for us, darling."

"Shut up, I'm not taking you to McDonald's," Harlem snickered.

"Fuck, and I wanted a Happy Meal," Desmond groaned. "Where are we going?"

The Dane cracked a sly expression. "There's this steakhouse I've been wanting to check out, then I thought we could go catch some movie with lots of explosions."

"And then ignore it while we feel each other up?" Desmond winked.

"Not your first date, huh?" Harlem chuckled. "Come on, let's go get some food."

Perhaps it was the environment they were in, but Desmond was a perfect date for Harlem. No vulgarity or no playful paws under the table yet he was open with his affection. He also put away an entire ribeye steak, two baked potatoes and a beer, a feat Harlem barely matched himself. When the bill came, the Dane didn't hesitate to pay it with a tip.

Back on the street, Harlem asked Desmond with a nuzzle on his cheek what movie he might want to see, but Desmond's mood had taken a nosedive. He said with a sad little smile, "How about we just go back to the campus? I wanna lie down."

Harlem tried to chuckle it off and ask if Desmond had had too much to eat, but the foxcoon was firm. Harlem hated the notion - he wasn't mad at Desmond, but at himself for fucking things up. Certainly he'd wonder for weeks how he had blown the date. Was he supposed to let Desmond pay for his own food? Did Desmond really want a Happy Meal? He agonized over all of the possibilities in silence and without his arm around Desmond right up to the foxcoon's dorm room.

As Desmond stepped inside, Harlem sadly watched. Desmond turned around in the threshold and glanced up at the Dane. He drummed his fingers on the door frame. "I'm sorry if I screwed up the date you had planned. It was really sweet of you."

Harlem's smile was thin and phony. "It's okay... Are you saying I didn't do anything wrong?" he hopefully asked.

Desmond smiled back just as thinly. "I don't wanna make out with you in a crowded theater full of dumb noise and dumb people."

"Ah," Harlem huffed. "Well, I mean, we could've just watched a movie together without any of that stuff."

The foxcoon shook his head while a very wide, toothy grin spread across his face. "You are such a dumb dog... Get in here, babe."

Harlem stepped on in with Desmond. The door opened just one more time a few minutes later when Desmond hung a tie he'd never worn on the doorknob.