Chapter 4 – The Honeycomb

Rory and I put out our cigarettes, and get up from the bench in the park.
“So what’s the hurry for?” he asks. He’s an otter with a voice carrying a lot of bass. Chubby. Doesn’t brush his hair. Spends one half of his freetime playing Runescape, the other half masturbating. Most know the type. We’ve been taking a walk. He’s smoked weed, I want to stay clear in the head today.
“Like I said earlier,” I say. “I have a surprise for you. But for real, I have an appointment. I’m getting picked up in a bit.”
“By who? What appointment?”
I don’t want him to see that I’m actually giddy, so I’m taking slow, deep breaths. “That’s the surprise.”
“It’s not like you to be secretive.”
“I am today.”
“Fair.” He chuckles to himself. “Is that why you got the faggy emo haircut?”
“Maybe.” That is certainly why. I didn’t think it was that out of the ordinary.
We start the walk home down the streets.
“Big tits or small tits?”
The question isn’t that out of the ordinary for Rory. “Depends. Both are good depending on the girl. One implies youth and dexterity. The other implies motherliness and comfort.”
He shrugs at my perhaps too high-brow assessment. “You don’t have a preference? If you could only have one for the rest of your life.”
I think of Dalia and my mother. “I suppose I could lean towards smaller. But even small tits can be ugly. Well-shaped tits above all.” I think of Christie. She has a pair of tits one could suspect of being fake, as tits don’t naturally look that good.
“Ah, I see.”
I shake my head, trying to lose the image of Christie’s bare chest. “How about you?”
“Big tits. Big tits all the way.”
I could have sighed, but I decide I don’t want to. “As expected.” He can have his one-dimensional sexuality. Some days I wish I could have myself one of those. It seems so… easy.
We don’t say much until we reach my building. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy his company. It’s manageable.
As we reach my door, I check my watch. “Five or ten minutes. I’ll be picked up.”
“Is this a girlfriend of some sort? Are you leaving me in the dust?”
He has self-irony. It’s on my list of must-haves for personality traits. “Ha. No. Not a girlfriend.”
He holds out his pack of cigarettes for me. “Want another?”
“No, thank you,” I say, legitimately a bit nauseous. Cigarettes make me feel… ugly. And girls are pretty. Standing still, stepping uneasily, I suddenly remember the hairband I have wrapped around my balls. It’s surprisingly easy to get used to, but it does send a tension up my spine, of sorts. The trickling excitement has had me numb, but rears its head, as I can see her car turn the corner.
Not a fancy car. But certainly a lot fancier than those of other twenty-year-old girls. 
She pulls up and I practice my girl-walk to the window, as she rolls it down. I remember too late that Rory would be watching my rear, but forget myself as I look at her.
She has curly pink hair, streaked black, cut at her shoulders. Her fur is black, streaked white. She’s wearing sunglasses and pulls them down, as our eyes meet. Her eyeliner and lipstick makes her fur look gray in contrast. I’ve decided I have a thing for snakebite piercings, so good thing she has them.
Her perfectly pullable collar is adorned with a skull.
“Charlie, I take it?” her lazy smile has an infuriating quality. It’s one you want to impress. One that’ll peer pressure you into committing crimes.
“Christie,” I say, leaning through the open window. “So, we finally meet.”
“About time,” she says. “Hop in, let’s roll.”
“Just a minute.” I blink to myself, having lost my words. “My friend back there is a… fan. Think you could write him an autograph?”
“Fan?” She stretches her neck and sighs the moment she sees Rory. “Oh, a fan.” I look back, and having daringly stepped closer, Rory’s already gaping in awe.
She groans, and I fear it was the wrong thing to say entirely. “Sure,” she says, defeated. “Call it a favor. But if he’s gropy, I have the guy at the city office who handles restraining orders on speed-dial.” She gets out of the car, and he seems to cower as if before a deity, as she approaches him. I almost drop my jaw as well; I’ve seen her tail, but never realized how enormous it would appear in real life.
“Cheerio, sunshine,” she says, as she crosses her arms and shoots her hip to the side. “Which one are you? Are you vocal in the chat?”
He swallows audibly. “ShadowsLie88.”
“Ah,” she tosses her head, as if rolling her eyes with her entire body. “The mommy-guy.”
He stands frozen for what I could imagine feels like a few years to him.
“Well.” She taps her foot impatiently. “Do you have something to write on? Something to write with?”
“Uh. Just… just a second.” He starts sifting through his pockets.
“Do I make it out to your handle? Or do you have a real name?”
“Ro-... Rory.” As he checks his pockets for the third time, it’s clear that he’s only searching because he has no idea what else to do with himself.
She snorts, but the light key lets on that she enjoys watching boys squirm. “Well, Rory. I don’t have all day. Stand still.” She reaches down her cleavage and pulls up lipstick. She opens it, puts it to his beige shirt, and keeping it stretched with her other hand, she writes two bold black letters: H, C.
Honeycomb Christie.
She punctuates with a heart.
“There, love. Enjoy.” She smacks her lips into the air before turning around. “Your friend and I have a date.”
He stands stupefied, and I can almost imagine him pissing himself as Christie gets back in the car.
“Be seeing you,” I say, as I get in with her, suddenly not so sure I did him a favor by bringing him.
She hits the gas, and I already feel that she’s what I would call an erratic driver. “That was almost cruel.”
“There’s no right way to handle ‘fans’,” she says matter-of-factly. “They all wish I would kneel down and suck them off, and well, with how many fans there are, there just isn’t enough hours in a day. So I do what the fuck ever I want. I could have asked him to fuck off, how’s that for cruel?”
Feisty one. “Don’t get me wrong,” I say carefully. “Thank you. But…”
My phone vibrates, and I feel like I already know what the text will say.
R: What the fuck are you doing dating Christie? You can’t do that to me, man.
“You see,” I say, rolling my hand. “With the ‘dating comment’, the poor soul thinks you’re my girlfriend. And boys are retarded about these things.”
She erupts into laughter. She heaves for air, and finally regains her words. “We are absolutely not dating. It was a joke.”
Even if I do not subscribe to the idea of dating, her phrasing hurts a bit. I answer Rory.
C: I am absolutely not dating her.
“If given… five minutes each…” I hum to myself. “You could feasibly suck off at least a hundred fans in a day.” I bite my tongue as I’ve finished the sentence. Her and I have been writing back and forth for a week, but I’m suddenly not so sure I know how to step around her.
“That’s true,” she says, nodding. “It’d take me something like ten days. But then, assuming a boy can be sated in five minutes is kind of thick, don’t you think?”
I nod back. “The line would never end.”
I have seen her chat room, out of morbid curiosity. They are like wolves. Even Rory turns into a predator there. A horny mind leaves little of your person behind.
Another message.
R: What are you doing then?
I sigh, considering my words carefully. I suppose a sliver of truth is the way to go.
C: If you must know, she’s a friend of my sister’s. She’s helping me pick out clothes for a party.
R: What party?
C: She’s throwing a party in a week.
R: At her place? Dude. You’ve gotta get me in on that.
C: Wasn’t the last time you went to a party in ninth grade?
R: It’s Christie, man. Make it happen.
I gather myself for a moment, eying Christie. “So. I gotta ask. My friend is being really persistent. How much trouble would it be to let him come to the party.”
“Mmm.” I can feel her step harder on the gas than necessary. “He strikes me as obnoxious. I don’t think I need to mention what creeps my stream attracts. I don’t want him there, if he’s going to be drooling me over the shoulder all evening.”
I grit my teeth before typing my answer.
C: She says maybe.
R: Sick, dude. I’m counting on you.
We turn a corner and arrive at our destination. The mall. Which among other clothing stores holds a Hot Topic.
“What sort of people will be there?” I ask, as she parks. “How many know your… reputation?”
“A lot of girls. We could bet on one of them grabbing his attention. Some boys. Mostly people I’ve met going to shows or in clubs. Let’s just say I feel it’s naive to invite someone that there isn’t some chance I will have sex with.”
I swallow as we get out and move towards the towering building. Somehow sex with girls other than Dalia and mother is still… surreal to me. And it’s been all but said outright. She’s somehow deemed me worthy of sex.
“Even the girls?”
“Even the girls. And yes, they all know what I do. At one point it became too hard to keep a secret. So the ones that took it poorly, I cut off. Some I still talk to, but I understand why they keep a distance. I made new friends.”
“Do your parents know?”
She hesitates for a moment. “The fuck do I know? If they do, they’ve danced happily around it. I could imagine dad beats off to my ass in secret, with how fat mom has gotten.”
“I see.”
I stop in my track for a moment before the pitch black front of Hot Topic. It’s like a threshold I never thought I would breach. The lion’s den.
Christie grabs a hold of my arm and pulls me inside. Rows of black and neon-colored clothing meet me. Pop-culture merchandise. Band-tees galore. 
As we move past the counter, a mouse girl with black bangs looking into her phone mutters at us. “Welcome to Hot Topic, how can I be of assistance?” Her tone seems to imply that should one dare to actually ask for assistance, she would be likely to write an angry blog post about it.
Still holding me, Christie pushes me in front of her. “Oh sure. This faggot is looking to appear as much like a girl as possible. What do you recommend?” My heart stops.
The mouse sets her phone down and blinks at us. She looks me up and down. “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” The dragged out syllable seems to last minutes. She bites her lip pensively. Perhaps she decides that she might be less bored helping us. “Come with me.”
With stilted motions, I get dragged down the shadowy aisles. Thankfully they don’t seem to have many other customers.
“Uuuhh,” the mouse says, looking over the clothing. “Try something like… this… or this.” She hands Christie a few tops and a skirt. She gives Christie a lazy wink. “He’ll look good in that.” She turns away, but Christie approaches her. She whispers something into the mouse’s ear. I watch a fifty-dollar-bill change hands and the mouse nods before returning to the counter.
I stand stiffly watching as Christie sways with the clothes in her hands towards me. My heart is racing, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard it three stores down.
“Is it embarrassing?” She sings the word before showing teeth. “Get over it. There’ll be like fifty people at the party. And if you stand there shaking, looking like you’re wetting yourself, they’ll know something is up. They’ll stand in the corners whispering about you.” She leans against me, and I smell her earnest, fiery viles. ”Unless you keep a straight back. You bite down, and you feel like a girl. Can you do that? Do you feel like a girl?”
I have to laugh. I’m nervous. But not uncomfortable. In fact, I’m horny as all fuck. And I’m feeling like it’s time to let her in on it. “I didn’t tell you. But I’m wearing my sister’s panties. And one of her glittery pink hairbands is wrapped around my balls. I’m a pretty little girl.”
She growls. “Oh, Dally was right, you’re an absolute deviant.” She reaches down and feels at my crotch. She makes round eyes as she feels my erection. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 
“I figured you... didn’t like perverts.” I’m not sure what I thought, I’d just noted that she tended to roll her eyes at her followers. 
“Oh sure, I like perverts. Especially pretty perverts.” She tightens her fingers. “But when they move on my turf, they stick to my rules.”
I hiss, but manage to slip into a grin. “So I’ll have to put on my A-game if I want to be on top?”
“Pushing your luck there. Girls aren’t on top. Girls lie there and take it. Girls are meat for the wolves.”
“Yes,” I say, perhaps too reverently. She’ll think I’m trying to be funny. “I’m wolf meat.”
“Say it like a girl.”
I turn my voice meek and slur it, curving the pitch like the hips of a whore. “I’m wooolf meeat.”
She pulls my jeans out by a thumb. “I suppose we can save the panty shopping for the way out, then. Come.”
We head for the fitting room by the back, and she grabs a few articles of clothing on the way. Hair bands, socks, gloves. We aim for the stall furthest down, and I’m certain I can guess why.
Inside, she hangs the clothes and sits down on the stool in the corner, nodding towards the mirror. “Change.”
I hesitate for a moment before I take off the boring boy-clothes I’ve been lugging around. I strip down to the pink lace underwear that my sister bestowed upon me yesterday. I pull them aside and sway before the mirror, enjoying the view of my banded balls, as if no one was watching. They are darkening in color, but I’ve been reasonable about how tight I’ve wound the hairband.
I put a hand to my hip and lean forward. I’ve been easing into the mindset. I’ll let her teach me; but I like to think the need is disappearing.
I pick a black, spider-webbed crop top. I’ve always let my chest ruff grow heedlessly, and I see why Dalia insisted I keep it. I’ve had it trimmed, and it makes a perfect excuse for having no breasts. In fact, I’m suddenly surprised I’ve not been mistaken for a girl more often, skinny as I am. 
I put on the short purple plaid skirt that the mouse picked. It has an attached studded belt with a solid buckle. I weigh the socks and the gloves. I pick a set striped pink and black. I pull them on with studied ease.
Finally I pull the skirt close around me, watching my erection poke the inside. It goes above the tail, so that when I lift it, I bare my rear. The mark of a loose girl.
“Aww,” Christie says, as she gets up and leans in over my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. Stand still.” She grips at my shoulder-long hair and pulls it into tails. “Dally says you’re into this,” she says, as she dons the Hello Kitty adorned hairbands.
I nod, folding my hands before my skirt.
“I don’t actually think we need to go harder,” she says. “That is, I’m done waiting.”
She grips my neck and pushes my cheek against the mirror. I wince. “He-... here?”
“I paid the mouse off,” she says. “We won’t be bothered. And if we do anyway, sucks to be us, don’t it?”
Her free hand slides down my back, and I purr in response. I’ve come to learn that people expect submissive cats to purr during sex, and to my satisfaction, I see her grin in the mirror.
Her fingers slip around the tail beneath the skirt. I remind myself to relax as she pulls my panties aside and touches her fingers to my asshole. 
“Have you been practicing like I told you to?”
“Yes, miss.” I’m certain she can tell, as she slips two fingers inside me with ease.
“What’s the biggest thing you’ve fit inside yourself?”
I push back against her, as I feel her third finger. She certainly doesn’t dally. “Deodorant. I’m aiming for a soda can.” It still hurts. But I’m receptive and vulnerable, which is its own reward.
“Ah, so a horse should come easy to you.” 
She feels at my limits. She takes out her hand, spits on it, and then starts working at getting four fingers inside. She lets go of my head, and I diligently keep leaning against the mirror. I watch my breath fog against it. My eyebrows pathetically arched, as I bite down, enduring. 
She runs a finger over the bottom of my erection. “When did you last masturbate?”
I have to be honest. “This morning.”
She huffs. “So no hair trigger cum shot down your legs, for shame.”
“I had to.” The air escapes me in an almost embarrassing moan, as she leans against me. “I thought of you.”
“How fucking romantic.”
Her nail tickles against my dick, and it sends flashes of light through my head. I am very much alive, and she wouldn’t have to work much to bring me to orgasm. “Just touch it… a little bit.”
“Beg for it.”
“I’m so close.” I bite down, my eyes watering. “Please.”
She removes the finger from my shaft entirely, and keeps on pushing against my ass. “Not good enough. I’ve heard you can be a right fucking poet, if you want to.”
Oh, it’s going to be like that? Fine. I hear the sound of someone entering the room outside, but the words are already running off the tongue. “I’m a good little girl. I promise I won’t fuck girls. All I want is cock. Please, please touch me. I will close my eyes, and only think of a long, hot shaft of horse cock, balls deep inside me. I’ll be good. I’ll lick your paws. I’ll let you and your friends piss in my whore mouth. I’ll-...”
“Fine, god,” she says, cutting me off.
The person that entered swiftly retreats. I wonder if she noticed. 
She finally lets go of my ass and drops to her knees behind me. She grips at my balls. And she pulls. I gasp, but I’ve surrendered. My legs tremble, but I stand firmly in place. She toys with the hairband with a finger, before running her tongue up my thigh. Over the inside of my buttcheek. The base of my tail, and I shiver.
And she slips inside my ass, and I become weak in the knees. The wet sensation lets on that she doesn’t care how well I’ve cleaned up. I feel her claws burning against my balls, but when her free hand grabs my shaft, and strokes me as if I’m just cattle to be milked, I’d ask her to grip harder, if my words obeyed me.
I slouch against the mirror, on the verge of collapsing. I wonder how many boys would give up their nuts to have their asshole licked by Honeycomb Christie. I promised to think of horse cock, but I’m perfectly satisfied having lied.
She dives impossibly deep with her tongue, and with studied rhythm, she tugs. In a few moments, my mind turns white. I almost hear my bristling fur crackle as I’m pushed over the verge and cum against the mirror’s glass.
I’m dizzy, tongue hanging out, and I almost need to remind myself where I am as I regain my breath.
Christie is standing beside me, arms crossed, leaning against the mirror. “You alright there, princess?”
Having ejaculated, I don’t feel the same excitement in the position of a girl. But I am committed. Which means I need to tame the post-orgasm regret. 
“Yes…” I say, pushing myself upright. “So… so we go with this outfit?”
“I suppose you only need one.” She shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” She picks up my old clothes for me and leaves the new that we didn’t use. “Come, slut. Time to pay.” 
I instinctively wince, but decide to take it as a compliment. I look at the cum staining the glass, and concede that some poor sob will have to clean it up. I keep my back straight as we walk out. I note that the two other customers there don’t spare me a glance on the way to the counter.
“Uh,” the mouse says, looking up from her phone. She smiles. “Done are we.”
Christie puts an arm around me. Which is good. She’s not ashamed of me. And neither am I.
“Super done,” she says. “I suppose you still need to scan the stuff?”
“Uh. Right.”
She picks up the scanner, and I stand still, taking deep breaths as she steps around me, finding the tags on me. The one on the skirt is tucked against my rear, and she needs to dig for it. I smile nervously at her.
“Well, that’s a first,” she says as she gets back behind the counter.
Christie tosses a hundred dollar bill before her. “Keep the change.”
We turn and step towards the exit.
The mouse giggles, and I shoot her a glance. “Good luck, handsome. You’re pulling it off.” She winks at me. Which must means that this idea wasn’t half stupid after all. And even though I’m not horny - anymore, or yet, depending - I sway my hips, good girl that I am.

I have been invited to Christie’s place. There is two days until the party, and we must do two things. Test make up and clip-on piercings; the icing. And the logistics regarding the operation itself. Very spy-like, I feel. Clandestine. I almost feel cool.
Christie’s father is a contractor and her mother is a doctor. They’re both away a lot, leaving their large suburban house attended by the aspiring punk pornstar. I have walked through the living room from edge to edge and imagined the fifty people. Christie has pointed out the spots suitable for secluded seduction.
She has promised me that if I get Miguel roped in, we can use her bedroom to our leisure. My fantasy involves the bathroom, but we’ll see how it pans out. I might be setting myself up for some unhealthy disappointment.
Now we’re sitting cross legged in her bed. My eyes are discovering the vast assortment of memorabilia she has amassed. By the posters, I can get behind her taste in music. Motörhead. Black Sabbath. Nirvana.
“Dally says you’ve been having mood problems?” Christie asks absentmindedly as she is carefully painting me with liquid eye-liner. It’s funny how the order is cat-like. We’re bringing out all the cat in me. I wore my new outfit on my way here, and I have to say, I’m almost outright comfortable here with her hands against me.
“It’s been going better,” I say, doing my best to sit still as I talk. “You know. General lack of motivation. Severely tired mornings. Animosity towards people around me for being… people.”
“Are you sure people around you aren’t just asshats?”
“Fairly.”
“Doesn’t sound that out of the ordinary. You’ve been giddy enough around me.”
A grin slips out, and at the interruption she pulls the applier away. “It certainly helps that you have a body that could wring cum from the dead.”
She blinks lazily at me, pausing, as if considering whether she should be offended. “Creative. I’ll let it pass.”
She sets the final line before sitting back. “Looks good. Miguel had seen you before, yeah?” 
I nod. “Once.” It feels like more. But the rest is made up of me stalking him on social media. Pictures from beach trips.
“Then I think we need to cover up your horseshoe. On your right cheek.” She touches her finger to the black patch there.
“My horseshoe?” I grab my cheek.
“Yes, it’s very distinctive.”
It is very distinctive, which is why I like it. It’s even turned the right way, so the fortune doesn’t fall out. I’d never say so outright, but I have an irrational fear that covering it up would rob me of some much needed luck at the party. Even if Miguel is a bit thick-skulled, she’s probably right. “Sure, cover it.”
“I got this white cover-up, just for you,” she says, bringing forth a jar. “Want me to do the fox-fluff as well?” She pats my jaw on both sides. “With the black, you’re just shy of that perfect geisha-look of your sister.”
I nod approvingly. “My sister is… like an elf, almost. Yes, do that.”
She pops off the lid. I recognize it as one of our more popular products at Lush Fur. I’m surprised at the “dusty” texture as she puts it to my cheeks.
We’re interrupted as the door opens without a warning. We turn our heads and meet the eyes of a young boy. Skunk, markings like Christie’s.
“Chrissy,” he says. “I’m bored. Do you want to play?”
She sighs. Apologetically. A tone I couldn’t imagine her use otherwise.  “Can’t you see I have company, Benny? We’ll play later.”
We stare back and forth for several moments, and suddenly he seems to see that I’m there. “Hi.”
“Hello,” I say carefully, putting my head curiously askew.
“You’re pretty,” he says. “You can play too.”
“Why thank you,” I say, beaming.
To my surprise, Christie gets up and rushes to the door. “Later,” she says sternly. She pushes him out and locks the door.
“Aww,” I say as she sits back down. “Why can’t we play?”
She looks down, almost shamefully. “Benjamin. My little brother, uh... He’s on the spectrum. Aspergers, I believe. Doctors can’t seem to agree entirely.”
I frown, not seeming to recall aspergers being a particularly severe disorder. “So…?”
“So ‘playing’ with him requires some delicacy. Now is not the time.”
“I understand,” I say, sensing it’s a delicate matter. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
She does the finishing touches with the make-up. “Done,” she says grinning, and hands me a mirror.
As I admire myself, she clips two earrings onto my left ear. Finally she puts a ring in my palm. “For the lip. Careful eating with it, but otherwise you should be fine.”
I put it on.
“Did you decide on a name?” she asks.
“Starling. Doesn’t hurt to be fancy.”
“Certainly doesn’t. I like it.”
It’s funny how I don’t recognize myself without my horseshoe. I do look like my sister. Which is perfectly fine by me; my sister could bring any man to his knees. Specifically Miguel in this case.
“It’s done,” I say. “We’re ready. I feel ready. Thank you. You’ve been a great help.” I wince, knowing how I tend to come off as sarcastic. “I do mean that.”
She shrugs. “I don’t see why your sister couldn’t have helped you.”
“The idea was to keep it a secret, which was easier this way. As you would have put it, we’re on your turf. And conveniently it seems you wanted to meet me. For reasons still unclear to me.”
She blinks dumbfounded at me, but only loses her bearing for a second. “I need a sparring partner for Tekken 7.”
I blink back, equally stupid. “You play?” Tekken is a game that I imagined exactly zero girls were into.
“Yes. And so do you, I hear. I’ve scared all my other friends away from the game.”
I certainly know that feeling. “What characters?”
“Take a guess.” She leans forward, turning her cheek towards me, as if wanting to direct my attention towards her in particular. She pushes her breasts together, wagging from side to side.
Could it be? “Christie. You play Christie. You’re kidding me. Christie isn’t even in Tekken 7.”
“Which is a travesty. I have to make due with Eddy. If I want to play a character with tits I play Katarina on the side.”
Both characters with reputations for being abnormally annoying to play against. “Oh, so pure fucking oonga boonga Tekken, I see. No wonder you scared your friends off.”
She snorts sarcastically. “Huh, mister holier-than-thou, who do you play?”
“Kazuya. When I want to win. But he lacks freedom of expression. Steve when I want to have a party.” People have said that those are two of the hardest characters to play. Arrogant that I am, I used to think that would suit me well.
She snorts louder yet. “Steve is a party character to you? I see why you’re depressed. You have the temper of a fifty-year-old accountant.”
“Ha ha,” I say, unamused. “So am I beating you up in plebeian Tekken or what?” 
She gives me a stone cold look. “Best of five. Whoever wins gets to top the other. You still have to be a girl, though. Take it or leave it.”
Call me sexist, but I don’t think a girl could beat me at Tekken. “You’re on.”
We move to the television. Mutely, she fetches the controllers and boots up the game.
We go through the motions. Character selection. I’m vaguely unsure about both Steve and Kazuya. Both rely on high attacks; she’s already picked Eddy, who spends ninety percent of the time spazzing out on the ground. I suppose Kazuya does less so, and I want to win, so I go with him. I study the controller. Not familiar with it, I don’t think I will be doing perfect electrics. 
We start, and I don’t do half as well as one could have hoped. She takes the first match, doing what Eddy does best. Spazzing on the ground. I appreciate her not rubbing it in.
I take the next match, already starting to sweat enough to distract me. I wipe my fingers on my skirt. I navigate my way through the third match as well, winning the last round with a sliver of health.
When she wins the fourth match on a perfect round, my heart is stuck in my throat. I sit, feeling drained, breathing deep breaths. I had expected her to trash talk, but she seems to be in the same condition. I have the worst idea. I pick Asuka, most oonga boonga of all. I only know one combo with her, but it’s a good combo.
The round starts, and she seems to feel confident. But, using only Asuka’s backflip, I pick up Eddy for one, two, three combos, and that’s enough to seal the deal.
She tosses the controller into the air. “That’s how you want to win? You absolute piece of shit.”
“You set the bar.” I grin as wide as I possibly can. “Pay up, Chrissy.”
“Fucking...” She crosses her arms, seeming to fight to regain her wits. “Fucking fine.” She closes her eyes and leans back among the bedsheets. She breathes slowly. “Fine. How do you want me?”
“Ass in the air. Face down.”
She sighs and apathetically positions herself on her knees and leans over. She lifts her skirt with her enormous tail.
“Pink underwear,” I say. “How girly.”
“Shut up.”
I move in and put my arms around her tail. “Unf, Honeycomb, milady,” I say, taking a deep whiff. “Your fragrance is like a gift from the gods. I could die fulfilled, having dived into your banquette of wonder. I cannot hold back.”
“God! Shut up.” 
I pull aside her panties, and though I have already seen her, spreading wide for hundreds of viewers, having it before me still sends a surge through my limbs. And I freeze up. Even if we have been... intimate. This is new. I gather myself. I can do what I want. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I slide my thumb into her asshole, while I pull my dick out from underneath my own skirt.
“Hey!” she calls.
Before she has time to protest further, I spit into her ass and shove it in. 
She whimpers and looks back angrily. “Did I fucking say you could go there?”
“Shut up,” I hiss as I ram it in as deep as I can. She tightens around me. “You get topped by Charlie, you get fucked in the ass. Deal with it. You shove plenty stuff up there on your dayjob, stop whining.” I push her cheeks together around me, and I wonder at how her tail quivers at the sudden discomfort.
“Ugh,” she groans as her face is pushed against the sheets. “Fiiiine.”
“I am fine, thank you.” I might even say I’m happy as I hump away. “Tell me you’re an anal slut. Say that sex in the pussy is fucking gay.”
“But…”
“No buts! Be a good sub, do as you’re told.”
“Ohhh my liege,” she says, words drenched in sarcasm. Her voice staggers through the humping motion. “I am but a slut only for anal. Keep away from my vagina, lest you should catch the homogay.” She can’t keep herself from laughing at her own words.
I respond by shoving in my thumb along with my penis. If she can laugh, I’m not being rough enough. She tightens up and bites the sheet.
I could choke her. Pull her hair. But I’m perfectly satisfied with her lying there, trying to cover up her shame with jokes. Defeated, taken in the ass by the little faggot Starling. My excitement has me up the pace as much as my thumb allows.
She lifts her head. “Could you not cum in my a-...”
“Too late,” I say, leaning against her with all my weight. I tremble, emptying myself into her rear. “Yeah take it, whore.”
“Fucking asshole,” she groans.
“I certainly did.” I carefully pull out, watching how the final drops cling to her rim. “Looking good, milady. Stay like that.” I sit back. I watch her leak. A memory I will cherish like a trophy. I wish I could tell Rory, without him tearing my head off.
“How long?”
“Until you’re good for a rematch.”
She topples over to the side and stretches. “Ow my ass. If you ever show up in my chat, you’re banned on sight.”
“Like I would hang out with those losers.”
She smiles at me after all. “I’ll play you again. But you’re not topping again today.”
“Unfair!” I huff. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
She yawns. “Bottoms and tops, tops and bottoms. It gets exhausting. How about we just fuck?”
I snicker. “Fine.” I was never one to just fuck. But I can’t always have my way.

When the day comes, a text from Rory gives me a moment of anxiety.
R: So, can you come pick me up, or are you already there?
“Fuck!” I shout, having Christie, who just did my make-up again, almost tumbling out of her bed.
“What?”
“Rory,” I say. “He doesn’t know about the plan. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that?”
“Yeah, why the fuck didn’t you?”
I sit back down and grab my skull to steady myself. “Wait. Wait! I have a plan.”
“Thank the lord,” Christie says. “I’ll be in the bathroom doing my hair.”
I text my sister as Christie leaves the room.
C: Sweetheart, Princess Supreme. Can I ask you a favor?
A minute passes with me tapping my foot restlessly before she answers.
D: Oh dear, what now?
C: You wouldn’t happen to be into ugly bastards, would you?
It looks like she attempts to type out an answer several times before settling.
D: Elaborate.
C: Rory. Otter. Mildly overweight. Friend of mine. Christie agreed to let him come to the party. Trouble is, idiot that I am, I forgot that I’ll be... busy. And he will 100 % be earning a restraining order from Christie, if no one is there to distract him.
D: You want me to fuck him. 
C: Pretty please.
D: So you get to gobble on lean horse cock, while I get humped by a chubby otter, who apparently rakes in restraining orders...
C: He’s nice, I swear. You get horse cock every day. No guarantee I’ll get any. It’s only fair.
D: -_-
I can imagine the amount of critical looks, she imagines she could send through the phone.
D: I have been holding out on him sexually for the occasion. Which you had better appreciate. I suppose I could use some release. Would you know if he is any good in bed?
C: I’m fairly sure that he’s a virgin. Sorry.
D: SIGH. I guess I can do some virgin-killing. If the opportunity shows itself... But you’ll owe me big time!
A stray thought enters my head. I can’t help myself.
C: Don’t you mean the “ottertunity”?
D: I am THIS close to changing my mind. Just give him my number.
C: Sorry, I’ll do literally anything for you in return. Love you. Kthxbye.
I sit for a good long moment, thinking of a good response for Rory. I guess I have to gamble on him not recognizing me. And if he does, well… I suppose I have to come clean. Might be that he understands. I swallow where I sit. What if he wants to have sex with me? I try to recall if “traps” ever entered our conversations. I wince. I just set my sister on the task. I suppose it would be hypocritical on my part to refuse.
I shove the thought aside and type.
C: Dude, I’m so sorry. Something else came up. I can’t make it to the party. My sister said she’d keep you company. I can send you her number, if you want.
He swiftly responds.
R: Skipping out on a party with Christie? Your loss, man. Sure, send me her number.
I send it to him. So far, so good. I return to my breathing exercises. The nervousness is at large battling my excitement. It has resulted in a recurring erection that I’ve promised myself I’ll leave be. I don’t want a lack of arousal to be motivation for pussying out. By experience, the alcohol will help keep it from poking at my skirt. I should start drinking now, actually.
“I’m going to go grab a beer!” I call down the hall as I leave the room.
“Less gruff!” she calls back. “More falsetto. You’re a delicate flower, my lovely pussycat. Can I go have a beer, Christie?”
“Sure. Thanks.” She’s right. And I have been doing it right. But I must concentrate on not letting the illusion drop. Maybe I need to drink that vodka flavored soda, even. For now, I fetch a beer from the fridge. 
I need to go get a cigarette. It might be ugly. But it goes perfectly with the punk look, doesn’t it? 
I place myself, leaning on the porch, drinking and smoking. I figure I might as well wait for the guests to arrive.

I love each and every of Christie’s friends. Even the short emo bunny with a bit too many pounds on her ass. I’d fuck the ears off the girls and let the boys fuck my ears off.
That’s the alcohol talking, sure. But a drunken man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.
As far as I can tell, none of them have any suspicions. I even had a girl talk with the girls. I was asked what products I use, and having the job I have, I was better equipped for that conversation than anyone there.
I am not laying off on the beer and the cigarettes; I feel as if a slightly raspy voice fits Starling quite well. She is seductive and aloof, has a terrible relationship with her mother, and has an unhealthy passion for jalapeño poppers.
Someone rings the doorbell. The emo bunny looks out the window. “Who invited that poor sob?”
I look her over the shoulder and laugh at how out of place Rory looks. You can tell he did his best to… dress up. A bright orange hoodie. And a pair of sweatpants he’s strangely proud of. He somehow still managed to forget to brush his hair.
Christie raises her glass to the room, holding a good fifteen people at the moment. “I guess I’m getting that!”
As she goes for the door, I text my sister to ask why they aren’t arriving together.
“Howdy,” Christie says, as she opens. “What was it… Ruben…?”
“Rory.”
“Right, Rory, hi, welcome to the party.”
“I’ve got to say… Christie… Thank you so much for letting me come. It means a lot to me… I mean… I never thought I’d…”
Me and a handful others eavesdropping can hardly keep ourselves from giggling.
“Hey,” Christie says, cutting him off. “I’m in a good mood, so I will let a fair amount of fedora tipping and Rick and Morty references fly. You’re welcome. Come inside, have a beer. Try not to creep the girls out.”
“I… yes… of course.”
He joins us in the living room, and I imagine the record scratch sound as he stands staring at us with his hands in his pockets. The girl handling the playlist has been searching for a song for a minute too many. Someone coughs. The music comes back on. Rory slouches to the edge of a couch and sits down next to Chubby Emo Bunny.
And he doesn’t even give me a second look. My victories are piling up.
The response from Dalia lets me know that she might have been going a bit too hard on the teasing, which resulted in a minor fight. 
D: He doesn’t seem a bit the cuck that you are.
They are still coming both of them, but apparently it took some convincing on her part.
Rory has actually managed to get a conversation going with the bunny. It’s a long-winded critique of the atrocious ending to Game of Thrones, which to Rory’s luck is suddenly a universal unifier.
People arrive in a steady trickle. And as I’m downing the beer, my senses take twists and turns I didn’t ask of them.
A weasel beside me is rolling up a joint. As I am practicing my womanly viles, and I lean in against him. “Hola, honey. Whatcha got there?”
“What’s it look like?” 
“What’s it going to cost me to get in on that?”
He grins lazily at me. “How about a peck on the cheek. We’re all friends here.”
I give him a delighted giggle before pulling in, deliberately closer than I have to, to lick him on the cheek, as a rowdy cat does best.
He closes the joint with his tongue.
“Come, girls,” he says, getting up. “Let’s hit this bitch.”
As we’re outside, passing the joint between us, we shake our asses to the tune of a metal cover of a bad pop song.
I hear the doorbell ring. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I’ve been checking on every guest, being as subtle as possible. Finally it turns out to be Dalia and Miguel.
I listen in at a distance, as they’re hanging up their coats.
Miguel seems agitated. “This is kind of a glum gathering you’ve dragged me to. You’d think there was such a thing as too much black.”
“They’re dancing, Miguel.” Dalia might be genuinely annoyed too. “Happier than you’ve been today.”
I brace myself for my entrance. I have to leave my mark early; can’t risk him jumping someone else here, even if I am the prettiest.
I stride through the hall, seemingly going for the bathroom. I stop in my track, with a deep, soft sweep of my tail. Play to your strengths. “Huh-hu-hi there, handsome.” I let my ears perk. I don’t even have to pretend. The dress-shirt he is wearing fits closely to his torso, and his scent creeps easily over me. I lean ever so slightly forward. “Enchante. I’m Starling. Welcome to the party.”
He blinks, staring at me. “Hello.” I could be mistaken, but he seems to be considering whether to reach out for a handshake.
“Hey,” Dalia says sternly. “He’s with someone.” Acting possessive to get him spiteful. She’s been playing the long con, I have to admire that. 
“Oh, I almost didn’t see you there.” I act like I’m gathering myself from the minor embarrassment. “Well, see yourselves in, I have a date with the bathroom.”
I notice Dalia’s eyes follow me as I move on. She must have recognized me, but it’s the first time she sees me in full getup. In silence, I hope she’s feeling just a hint of fear that I’ll actually steal him.

Miguel and Dalia start the evening by sticking close to Rory. I bide my time.
Rory introduces them to Emo Bunny Girl, Lanky Deer Boy, and Indeterminable Gender Raccoon.
To Christie’s luck, so far he’s been able to keep his distance. But I’ve been noticing him stealing glances, probably gathering his courage to… swoop in and sweep her off her legs.
Christie approaches me as I’m standing outside, having a cigarette.
“So. He’s here. Doing decent so far. What’s your plan?”
I shrug. “Slow and steady wins the race.”
She grips at my shirt and leans in to bite my ear. “Are you sure you can’t settle for the Honeycomb?”
“There’s only so many hours in the day, Christie. Everyone wants a piece of me.” I give her a swift kiss. “I’ll get around to you.”
“Oh, you’ll get around to me? That’s so hot.” I can’t judge whether she’s serious, before she pulls me in and sticks her tongue into my mouth. She keeps her lips to mine for long enough that I have to gasp for air. 
“Fuck,” I say, putting a hand to my crotch. “This skirt doesn’t go well with an erection.”
“I think an erection goes phenomenally with your skirt.”
“Of course you do. But do you have a horse cock?”
She rolls her eyes.
I put out my cigarette against the wall and toss it into the ashtray. “I need to break the ice. I’m going to need a conversation starter that I can work off.” I nod towards her. “Did you catch up with Dally yet?”
“How… oh, you mean...?” She points at me in acknowledgement. “I’m with you. I’ll handle it. Follow my lead.”
I follow her back inside. She approaches Dalia and Miguel from behind and puts an arm around their shoulders. “Hi, my absolute favorite people. Are we having a grand old time?”
“Y-... yes,” Dalia says, stumbling under Christie’s weight. “Looks like we’re miles behind on the drinks, though.”
“We can fix that. Starling!” Christie calls over her shoulder. “Fetch us an armload of beeeeer.” 
“Coming right up.” I make a trip to the kitchen and pick up no less than six beers. I skip back to the gathering and start passing them out. I end on Dalia, who crosses her arms.
“Oh it’s you,” she says, and I hold back a moment at the seemingly genuine spite. But she sends me a subtle smile as she grabs the beer.
“Starling and I...” Christie begins, lifting a finger resolutely. “...were just discussing the age old conundrum. Are traps gay?”
I have to laugh. I try to get a hold of myself as the looks fall on me. “Yes, it’s on everybody’s lips. One side is all like, the penis only makes it better. The other is all, why are you being such faggots? You know what I’m saying?”
“I…” Miguel says. “I don’t think so.”
“Well,” Rory chimes in. “Obviously the trap itself is gay. Or… at least bisexual. Otherwise we wouldn’t be calling it a trap. It’s a boy roping in boys. I assume you mean, ‘is it gay to fuck one’? And yeah, still gay. Nothing wrong with being gay.”
“What’s a ‘trap’?” Miguel asks, obviously not used to not being at the center of a conversation.
“It’s an effeminate boy,” Dalia says, stroking his arm in a patronizing manner. “Who dresses up like a girl. You know.”
“So like a drag queen? Or transexual?”
“No, there’s a distinction,” I say, pointing at him. “A drag queen is openly crossdressing. A transexual actually wants to be a girl.”
“And a… uh… ‘trap’ wouldn’t?” He frowns.
“It’s all quibbling,” I say, tossing my hand dismissively. “I say, forget gay and straight. Every guy I’ve met has a sufficiently hot dude they’d go for, no homo, anyway. Do the labels really matter?”
“You brought it up,” Rory says, looking down into his beer. “Has to matter a little bit, yeah?”
“I think,” Christie says. “That it’s like a game to these traps. They want to see how far they can push their limits and other’s limits. There’s a thrill involved in the danger.”
“Adrenaline junkies, eh?” Miguel says. “Makes sense.”
“That’s hard not to respect, isn’t it?” she says, and you can tell the alcohol has kicked her thoughts up to a daring pace. “When you’ve got something burning inside you. It’s better to let it out, no matter the cost.”
“Christie,” Rory says. “Do you… do you have a moment?”
She leans her head askew. “Sure, I have nothing but moments.”
“In private.”
Oh boy, here we go.
Something in her seems to want to roll her eyes, but she ends up humoring him, with a shrug. “I suppose. Yeah, sure, let’s get that over with. Bring a beer, you’re behind too.”
As they move off, distinctly not towards her bedroom, Rory is wringing his hands nervously and Christie stretches as if preparing herself for menial labor.
Dalia grits her teeth and sucks in air, as if she made a mistake. “Was I…. Was I supposed to stop that?”
I shrug. “Who knows?” I can’t say I care too much. I’m convinced Christie likes me too much to let it fall back on me.
“What?” Miguel says, bewildered. He’s cute when he’s clueless.
“Yeah,” I say. “Rory is head over heels for that girl. That’s bound to end in disaster.”
He nods in understanding. “I see,” he says. “I can’t imagine he’s her type at all.”
SIlence falls a moment too long. I look expectantly at Dalia, who seems to realize that the gathering is now just the three of them. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she says suddenly and turns where she stands, before skipping off.
I give Miguel a deep, crooked smile as it’s just the two of us.
He raises his beer. “Cheers.” He takes a drink.
“Want some air?” I ask and nod towards the door to the veranda.
He looks around, as if considering whether he should stay put for Dalia, but then nods. “Sure.”
Outside, I light a cigarette, knowing it’s a gamble. On one hand he seems to have an aversion to smoking in general. But whether he likes it or not, I’m signalling free spirit and I’m sure his cock knows I’m fair game.
“How do you know Christie?” I ask.
“Dalia knows her,” he says. “Something about an internet forum. I wouldn’t take her for someone into… this scene.”
I snicker, suddenly feeling a comfortable sense of belonging, as the confident hunk is the one out of place. “Oh, we’re not so bad. We don’t bite.” I bite my lower lip and lean against the wall, pushing out my hip. “We’re quite friendly when you get… close.”
I can tell his eyes are exploring my body. Following the arch of my tail. My humbly lowered ears. Dalia is right. He has an unspoken passion, and I plan on bringing it to light.
He coughs into his hand. “How about you? How do you know her?”
“I held her hair as she was throwing up at an August Burns Red concert last summer. We’ve been besties since.” Her and I haven’t worked the story out in detail, but we felt confident winging it.
“Ah. Have I… seen you somewhere before? You look familiar.”
I feel a moment of anxiety. “I did a juice commercial like eight years ago. That might be it.” I steady myself. Confidence will do the trick.
He snaps his fingers. “You look like Dalia. That’s it.”
I give him a patronizing look. “You’re sure all white cats don’t just look the same to you?”
He pulls his shoulders closer about him. I’m confused as to whether I should diminish his confidence or encourage him. “Sorry,” he says. ”Starling was it?”
“Quite so.”
“That’s an… unusual name. It’s a bird, right?”
I smile apologetically. “Oh it’s not my real name. Hardly anyone here gives you their real name. Scene-kings and queens all have personas, if you will. Ask Honeycomb for her real name, if you dare.”
“Honey… Who?”
Oh, so he actually doesn’t know her reputation. “Christie. Honeycomb Christie, she calls herself. Ask her for her real name.” It’s mildly funny. I stumbled across her license in her purse and couldn’t resist poking fun.
“Oh. What’s yours then?”
I blink, reminding myself not to get backed up in a corner like that. “Do you really want to know?” I was hoping I wouldn’t need to keep track of a third name. But I’ll pull one out of my ass if necessary. “Starling is a dream come true. Don’t shoot the bird down. Live the moment.”
He sighs. “Be like that, then.” He grumps and looks into his beer.
I’m about to ask what’s bothering him, before he turns without warning and walks back inside.
I curse to myself. I put out my cigarette. I can’t be stumbling after him. Needy is the last thing I want to be. I slowly follow him, supposing I’m aiming for another beer first.
Suddenly Christie is at my shoulder. “Making progress?”
“Maybe.” I sigh. “He seems... moody. Might be Dalia’s teasing him has backfired. We need to pick him up. Maybe some music he likes?”
“Say no more,” she says, and suddenly she’s disappeared. I forgot to ask what happened to Rory.
Rory answers for me, by stumbling through the room, bawling his eyes out, squealing like a pig. Everyone turns their eyes and looks on confused, until he exits to the veranda.
I step up beside Miguel and Dalia, staring all the same. “Uuuuuh.”
“Yeah,” Dalia says. “That was weird.”
“Do you guys need more to drink?” I ask.
“Yes”, Dalia says.
“I uh,” Miguel says. “I don’t think I’m good for much more.”
“No!” I say, and realize that I’m sounding genuinely panicked. I calm myself. “No, come on, people, party’s just started. Why don’t we go pester the DJ? Get some of our favorite songs on? What are you into? I’m somewhat of a Blink-182 girl, but you could get me to get down to anything, as long as it’s good music.”
“Get down?” Dalia notes, raising her eyebrows. I respond with a devious look, appreciating her calling attention to the double entendre.
Christie comes stumbling back, carrying colorful drinks in her arms. “You guys, you have to try these! It’s a drink with uh... grenadine, orange juice, rum, and uh. Yeah, I don’t remember. It’s really good. One for Dally, Miguel, and Starling, my giiiirl.” She passes a drink to each of us.
Miguel hesitates, but then takes a sip. He shrugs, raising his eyebrows. Then he takes a good deep swig before smiling at us.
The sounds of Rory sobbing like a five-year-old still seem to echo.
“What uh...” Miguel says. “What happened out there?”
Christie takes in a deep, tired breath. “The boy declared his undying love for me. And I’m not exaggerating. He started talking about how good I would look in a wedding dress. What our kids would look like.”
I drop my jaw. I hadn’t thought Rory would go that far. “No fucking way.”
“Yeah, way. Anyway, I had to stop him before he got in too deep. And he got real deep real quick. I told him I’m too fond of my job. That I’m not particularly attracted to him. And I may have told him to ‘get real’. Which in hindsight was unnecessary. But still. Try and blame me for being tired of senseless affection, would you?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s understandable.”
I look expectantly at Dalia. She looks back at me as if asking Do I have to? I make round eyes and lean my head askew.
She sighs. “I guess I, uh… I guess I got to… go… um. Yeah, see ya.” She scurries off, tail almost tucked between her legs.
Miguel snorts. “Yeah, you go do whatever.” He bops his head to the music. He hums to himself. “So. Honeycomb. Starling tells me to ask you about your real name.”
Christie makes round eyes and tosses her head back. “Uuugh, please don’t. My real name is terrible.”
I can’t help myself. “It’s Christina Martin.”
“Chris Martin.” Miguel says, groaning as if concentrating. “Where have I heard that before?” His body is swaying. He grins to himself. He suddenly downs the drink in his hand.
I point at both of them with finger-guns. “It’s the lead singer of Coldplay.”
Miguel laughs a deep, booming laugh that goes straight to my abdomen. “Aww, you’re kidding. Chris Martin, that’s adorable.”
Christie pushes me. “You absolute traitor.”
I laugh with him. “Come on, it’s cute.”
Suddenly someone turns up the music. It’s The American Nightmare by Ice Nine Kills. I only know it because Christie has been putting it on repeatedly. I can’t imagine it’ll help Miguel’s mood. It’s an exceedingly erratic, dissonant song.
“Heavy metal?” Miguel calls out. “God, I hate that! But hey! Who am I to hate anything? What are we waiting for?” He sets the empty glass aside, rushes to the dance floor, and moments later, he’s headbanging with people he has never met before.
“What the fuck happened to him?” I ask, leaning closer to Christie.
“Yeeeah, I slipped some ecstasy into his drink.”
“You fucking what?”
She lifts her hands innocently, as if to say Sorry, not sorry. “You heard me! Come on, we’re already playing dirty. If that doesn’t get him horny enough to fuck a boy, nothing will. Like he said: What are you waiting for. Go get physical.”
I take a moment with quick breaths. I down my own drink, hoping she didn’t slip me anything. I set down the empty glass and rub my hands together. Then I slither in with a batting tail behind me, weave between the ones on the dancefloor and grab a hold of Miguel. We toss our hair with each other, and I feel my heart beat as our tails brush against each other.
And more than once, as we collide, I feel that he’s hiding an enormous erection. I must be careful not to get overeager.

“Give me one of those,” he says, when we’ve gone to get air, the heat from moving having overwhelmed us. I pass him a cigarette. 
We’re sitting closely on the edge of a bench. We’re not alone out here, but everyone is exactly drunk enough that they wouldn’t be able to recount the events tomorrow for their life.
I light the cigarette for him. He coughs violently, taking a drag, but he doesn’t back out. 
“So, I was meaning to ask you,” I say. “What’s been getting you down? There’s some tension between you and Dalia.”
He curses and stomps his hoof where he sits. “She’s been ‘not feeling it’ and ‘out with her girlfriends’.” He makes frustrated hand gestures. “And I’m fucking… Confused. She was such a freak. Horse cock this, horse cock that. Almost wore me down, I tell you.” He takes another drag. As he coughs persistently, he decides to hand it to me.
“Oh, I’ve known plenty of girls who…” I lean in and put a hand on his thigh. “Claim they would die for the sheer size of those things. But then, she’s just… not putting out?”
“I don’t get what I’m doing wrong,” he says, tossing his head back. “And when I bring it up, she keeps turning it around. I’m just a horndog who can’t think of anything but sex. But what? Because she’s a woman, she gets to say I can’t have any sex at all? With how we started out...”
“No, that’s not fair at all.” I touch my nose beneath his chin and start purring faintly. “I’m personally not a huge fan of… the whole monogamy thing. You just end up… wanting something you can’t have. Which is the same for a lot of us here. I think we’re just too young for that. Just this party, I think I’ve already had to pick another bathroom twice because people were banging in there.” I’m confident putting my hand to his chest. I feel at the ridges of his muscles, and my breath gets caught in my throat. “Are you comfortable letting Dalia and Rory go off like that?” With how long they’ve been gone, I can’t imagine Dalia didn’t do what I asked of her.
“The fat otter? Are you kidding? If I can’t get her wet, then he doesn’t have a chance in hell.” He turns his face towards mine, and suddenly  our lips are close. “She’s being a… good friend, probably.”
I look up at him, making my best set of doe eyes. I imagine the bold look of thickly lined cat eyes goes surging through his body. “Ah, I see. Are you… A good boyfriend?”
“I probably could be better.”
It’s fucking happening.
Our lips touch, and the gruff taste of horse is everything I imagined. His long tongue wraps around mine. I feel the damp breath from his nostrils. My hand brushes against the swelling erection in his pants. I fold my legs around my own, trying to keep it down.
I feel eyes on us. They might be looking for gossip.
“You think the bathroom is free?” he asks, and my heart goes wild.
“We’ll find somewhere,” I say and pull him up.

We’ve secured ourselves the large bathroom and I’ve pushed him back on the toilet.
I go to my knees and spread out my legs to fan out my skirt. I sway my tail softly as I lean in. I breathe in the dizzying scent, as I get a hold of his zipper with my teeth and start pulling down his pants.
“Miaw!” I say as I pull up my long awaited horse cock. “I’m the luckiest girl tonight.”
I feel its weight in my suddenly tiny hands, and oh the buzz of feeling more female by the second. Tiny and made to service. Suddenly free, the blood rushes through it, and I feel it pounding as it rises to its full length. 
“How’s that?” He’s lulling his head, dizzy. But he’s giving me all the attention I need.
“Oh fuck,” I say, struggling for my breath. “What I wouldn’t want you to do to me.”
I have to stretch for my mouth to reach the tip. A tremble as it slides over my tongue, to the back of my mouth. The heat, the skin as it gives. The faint, yet powerful taste of urine. I do my best to keep my teeth off him, but I’m open to my limit. I run my palms down the shaft. This is the advantage of being a boy. You know how to stroke a dick. Fingers locked in a ring, with a tight grip. Pull the skin down until it strains just enough. Steady rhythm. Feel for feedback, and slowly pick up the pace.
I push against him, and I get him as far down my throat as I possibly can. My eyes water. I don’t want to let go. I look up at Miguel who is forcefully closing his eyes, taking deep, rumbling breaths. I’m certainly not doing it wrong.
I remember the first time I sucked dick. With my father. I feared the image would be painful, but there is a sort of vengeance. A catharsis. Because I’m in power here.
I’m drooling all over him. Getting my own fingers wet.
I finally have to pull back for air. As I keep stroking, panting, I take the opportunity to grab his balls and push them against my nose. I lick at them, tasting the sweat.
“Good kitty,” he says, and I beam with pride.
I close my fingers around his balls, as much as I dare without knowing whether he’s into it. “Fuckload of cum there must be in here. You can put it anywhere. Mouth, ears, I don’t fucking care.”
“Will do,” he says and gets up, pulling me with him by my ear.
I crawl anxiously behind him. Treat me like trash. And I get my wish as he poses me over the edge of the bathtub, ass in the air.
I wave my tail at his nose, as I feel his hands toy with my ass cheeks. He pulls up my skirt.
So close. He’s going to find out. He’s going to see… I’d like to try to hide it, but I don’t think I can.
He pulls down my panties, and I hear an almost comical gasp. “You… you’re a boy.”
I keep wagging my tail. “Whoooops. Sorryyyyy. I’m a baaad, bad boy.” My heart is still pounding, here before the moment of truth. But I’m too excited to mind. I had a good run. Let’s see how far I can keep him going.
“You fuck! What the... fuck.”
I look back at him. “Your lovely cock doesn’t seem too concerned.” He’s still holding it, erect as ever.
“No, it’s… I’m... pent up.”
“Right, the missus has been a sourpuss.” I wave my ass from side to side. “What are you waiting for? I’m here for the taking. Do whatever you want. Mistreat me. I don’t want to be able to sit for a week. You won’t be able to see it when you’re inside anyway.”
“God, I’ll hate myself tomorrow.” He pulls my asscheeks apart, stretching my skin.
I hiss. “Better make it worth it, then.”
He puts his dick against my rear. Will we need lube? Did I train enough?
When he pops inside, my body lights up in a moment of pain and my breath races away. I loosen up my body. I need to surrender. Just remember to surrender. “Go on,” I say. “I can take it.” I don’t know if I can, but no matter how deep he goes, I’ve endured worse with my father.
He slides in an inch. “Fuuuck, you’re tight.”
“Thhhhaaank you.”
He starts humping. Bit by bit he gets deeper. He stretches my insides and the blood pounds fiercely against my skull. I want to reach for my dick, but it’s caught outside the bathtub’s railing. No matter. I’d finish too soon.
His fingers dig into my hair. He grips and pulls, to dig in further. It burns, but I want more. I push back against him, the best I can. He’s not balls deep. But he must be close. At each thrust, my blood courses, and my own dick wants to burst.
I put a finger in my mouth and look back. “Am I a good girl?”
“If I weren’t so fucking horny, I’d probably slap you, you liar.”
“Didn’t I say you could do whatever you want? Fucking teach me a lesson.”
He grabs my neck and pulls me up. My body twitches as he slides out of me. He drops me down on the carpet in the middle of the room. I tumble back and instinctively pull my knees against my shoulders. “Aw, now we can look at each other, so romantic.” I tighten my sphincter, feeling dirty and used, as I can’t seem to close up. I feel so empty. 
He kneels down and sends a palm across. The world rings around me. As I focus, I see the bewilderment and anger in his face. But I feel the passion in the way his hands grip at me. “Harder,” I growl. “Call me a fucking faggot.”
“You traitorous whore,” he says and slaps me hard enough for the room to go dark for a second. “Faggot,” he whispers, as he lifts my rear from the floor, and slides inside me once more. He throws himself against me, and I whimper. I grip at the carpet.
Looking down myself, I see my dick free, slapping against my stomach. Exposed. And he can see me. He’s so gay. Gay for me. I’m just that pretty. And he shows me vigor. I suppose he’s decided that I’m pretty enough to make up for my dick. He sweats and works like he’s the hero to my princess.
He’s in so deep, I can see my stomach give to the tip of his dick. And it doesn’t hurt. I’m numb from the alcohol and marijuana, but also proud of how well prepared I am. God, girls that won’t do anal are pussies.
I tighten around him and feel how he gasps in response.
My tongue is hanging out, and I must look like an idiot, drooling on myself. I’m close, and I can see the first drops of cum at my tip.
But I’m in for the full treatment, and my orgasm won’t complete without his.
“Please,” I gasp. “I want… need. Cum. Cum…”
Maybe he was waiting for me. His hips press against my rear, and he lets out a long, defeated breath as if emptying his entire being. He whinnies, and I feel him swell. The prize stallion reaches the goal, takes his prize. I put a hand to my belly and I swear I can feel it trickle inside. I reach down and squeeze my balls. As his cum leaks out of me, down his shaft, I reach the finish line as well. I shoot up my stomach, hitting my top and my chest ruff.
Still pulsing, he pulls out, and proceeds to drench me. He strokes himself as the flood is let loose. My own cum is drowned, pathetic in comparison. Up my stomach, up my chest. Jet after jet. He hits my tongue, still hanging out. It tastes like I remember it. And just when I think there can’t possibly be more, another jet hits my nose.
He sits back.
He pants. “Sorry…”
I try to focus. I look down myself. I’ve only ever seen this much cum in porn. “God, now everyone will see how bad I’ve been.” It doesn’t make me scared. I’m high. I’m happy. I want them to see. “You’re amazing.”
I look at him, already feeling a sinking sensation of melancholy that it might be over.
But the dripping horse cock, still standing, doesn’t seem to have had enough.
I reach down and spread my asshole with all my fingers, showing him how well I’ve been punished. “Again?”
After a moment of hesitation, he nods.

The morning after I wake up in my own bed with a pounding head. I sit up.
I look around. Everything looks the same. Except. Two sets of clothes are spread over the floor; one seemingly belonging to a girl. To my right, a horse is sleeping with his back turned.
I put a finger to my eyelid and observe the eyeliner rub off on my finger. The rings are still  in my ear. But the one in my lip is gone. It all starts coming back to me. My ass feels like I’ve had nothing but mexican for a week.
“They called us mad,” I whisper to myself, as I stretch, feeling a profound satisfaction settle throughout my body. “But we did it.”
Miguel seems to be sleeping like a stone. I put a hand to his shoulder to no reaction. I give him a light shake.
Right, he was on ecstasy. Christie, the devil. I suppose I owe her.
The sheets have slipped off him, and his mottled, sleek fur is showing. I run my fingers down his spine and tug lightly on his blonde tail. No reaction. 
I look down at my morning wood. “Didn’t you have enough?” I sigh. I suppose not.
Well, with an ass like that, it’s his own fault. I move down the bed.  I push his upper leg forward, spreading his asscheeks apart. I start stroking my dick, as I carefully put my fingers around his balls. I pick up the pace as I slowly fit my thumb inside the horse’s puffy asshole. It seems a horse’s sphincter is naturally stretchy.
I lie panting, sending vibrations through the bed, as the sleeping beauty keeps breathing easily. He seems to tighten around my thumb by reflex.
It doesn’t take long for me to finish. I cum over the sheets, and I hit his thigh.
As my mind clears, and the endorphins settle, I quickly retract my hand, having no idea how he would react to getting molested in his sleep.
I get up and start what could be a morning routine, if I was good at getting up in the mornings. I put on a robe. I clean off the make-up. Having a faint hope that he’ll shower with me, I save that for later.
I look at my kitchen counter, thinking I should fix breakfast of some sort. Eggs? No. Not wanting the least chance to fuck up, I start toasting some bread. I heat water for instant coffee. I hope he won’t be a prude about it.
I put cheese and marmalade on the bread, and I pour the water for the coffee. I look up to find a naked Miguel with bags under his eyes, rubbing his temple.
“Good morning, stud,” I say, trying to keep my eyes off his dick. “It’s not much, but I’ve made breakfast.”
“Did we…” Miguel points back and forth between us. “Did you and I…?”
“We most certainly did.” I carry the plates and cups to the table. “You were wonderful. My ass has the worst fucking hangover though. You go deep when you get going.”
“Dalia!” he says, as if just now remembering he has a girlfriend. “What happened? Where is she?”
I sit down. “Went home alone, I assume. I have a faint recollection that you denied a few calls. Probably from her.” I gesture for him to take the other seat.
“Fuck me,” he says as he sits down. “My head.”
I want to make a joke, but I hold back.
Miguel takes a bite. Seeming to realize his hunger, he picks up the speed and wolfs down the rest in about thirty seconds. He takes a sip of the coffee, but winces at the heat and sets it back down. “Where’s your shower.”
I point him in the right direction and he gets up.
“Can I… join you?” I ask.
“Fuck no.”
I roll my eyes as he leaves for the bathroom. Be like that. I pull up my phone and send Dalia a text.
C: Mission successful. I can’t thank you enough. You can let him back in from the cold now. He probably needs it, the poor thing.
I hear him turn the shower on.
He pokes his head back out. “Does this… Us. Does this make me gay?”
I shrug. “Do you feel gay?” I toss a hand dismissively. “If you can still get it up for your girlfriend when you get home to her, I don’t see why it should be a reason for concern. Don’t worry, I won’t tell her.” I don’t need to, since it was her idea.
He groans and goes on with the shower. Dalia’s response chimes in.
D: You’re welcome. I’ll still be calling on that favor though. I can inform you that Rory is no longer a virgin. And I might have taken his mind off Christie entirely. It wasn’t all bad. I did have to do most of the work, but you know me. Being bad, feels good.
C: My little cheating whore. ;)
D: Getting me horny, you rascal. I guess I can give him another go before I leave his place.
C: Careful, he’ll get clingy.
I sip at my coffee. It seems there’ll be no response for a while. I get horny again, imagining what she’s doing. My libido has been healthy as of late.
Not five minutes later, Miguel is done with his shower.
“So yeah, I’ll be leaving,” he says, moving to the bedroom to get his clothes.
“You don’t… want another go?” I mean to sound seductive, but I feel somewhat naive.
“No… Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t feel too well.” He’s swiftly dressed and on his way for the door. He stops and starts patting his jeans. “Do I… do I have everything? Phone, keys, wallet.” 
“I believe so.” I raise my eyebrows. ”You don’t want my number to go with that?”
He narrows his eyes and seems to consider it for a moment. “You know what… If I’m feeling it, I know where you live? Alright?”
“Alright.”
“Have a great weekend.”
“You too.” And the next moment he is out the door.
I let out a sigh, suddenly feeling like a tire slowly deflating. After finishing my coffee, I pick up the cup he barely touched.
I could spend today getting high, jerking off to the memories. Or I could text Christie, see if she wants to play Tekken. Bit of both? Bit of both probably.