I remembered waiting, standing beside the Mercedes in the driveway of Van Claude’s home some nights after dark, ready to take my employer off to the airport or some discrete late night engagement. His hillside home faced the L.A. Basin providing a striking view of the never-ending expanse. I could see the crescent shape of the beach that stretched toward the hills of Palos Verdes and into the opaque abyss of the ocean that seemed to consume the cities light, swallowing its energy into the black of international waters. The lights of aircraft stung like pearls on an invisible string hovered as if motionless on their final approach into LAX. From here the city I knew, had traversed, and had been lost and trapped within was nothing more than a carpet of shimmering light flickering through atmospheric distortion. Vast, yet perched on the edge of abyss. I would stare at all below finding it hard to keep balanced on my own two feet, expecting the ground the shift by some long anticipated cataclysm that would send me flying over the rooftops, casting me into the tenebrous black where the city lights ceased.  

“What did I want?” I thought, questioning what had brought me to the hotel parking lot, to the pay phone I approached. What did I seriously expect to get out of this? I knew what was at stake if I carried out my plan. I would risk my job, my reputation, and my relationship with my employer. Yet I strode forward, determined, but unsure of the source of that tenacity. I knew this was not about a moment of bodily pleasure, a quick fuck, or a half baked fantasy I was trying to make true. Perhaps it was the risk that was so compelling. I was breaking a rule for sex, for proximity, and to express an intimate part of myself. 

The telephone booth is an archaic mode of communication. I often questioned why they still persisted, albeit in ever diminishing numbers across cities, when nearly everyone including Van Claude and myself has cell phones. I would never wish them away. In an era of Omni-communication the analog machine persists to convey desperate messages. Perhaps they exist as nostalgic monuments, an edifice of material culture scattered abandoned like stele or funerary monoliths. I have memories of them, of 
myself clinging to them pouring a cascade of thoughts, expositions of instincts, sensations and affects into the black holes of the receiver in last a ditch confessional. Within acrid booths and filthy enclaves friendships have taken root and others terminated, romances rekindled or snuffed out in a violent slam of the receiver. Upon the public apparatus promises have been made, secrets voiced, fantasies confessed and intimate anatomy described often in illicit scenarios alone or jointly with other bodies in explicit detail down to the last thrust and drop of cum. Whole rolls of quarters have been devoured by the metallic maw of the apparatus with a series of familiar mechanical clanks so that I may shout out the deeply personal, the intimate and the taboo.

I have driven for hours in search of pay phones. Found them in supermarkets, in parking lots, and on vacant curbsides. I confess that I never truly understood the motivation that would bring me through streets to remote locations, to always keep a roll of quarters in the glove box of the Mercedes. Like tonight, here in the purgatory of the parking lot, I would wait for hours. Allowing ideas, memories, and expectations to course through the synapses of my mind holding me paralyzed between perversion and amour, until compelled to action by needs more primal than lust. As powerful as the urge to still sexual desires in heated union, the coupling of bodies and physical release, was the need to connect more than flesh. The Phone booth has in its anonymity and its humility the sinister ability to denude speech into the barest and most essential conveyance of meaning. Or perhaps I have merely conditioned myself to experience this amidst squalor, moths and pale florescence.

I reached out and touched the phone booth’s folding door, pushing the half opened panels out of my way with the back of my paw. A moth fluttered by my face. The foul scent of the interior reached me in seconds. My whiskers twitched as I scrunched my nostrils in an involuntary reaction, averted by the musk of the inside. Scents of urine, decay, and mold came my way. My paw pads touched the brushed aluminum frame of the booth and the Plexiglas windows which had since been defaced and made opaque by countless engraved initials and graffiti markings. The metal felt cool despite the warm night and slightly damp with condensation. Jet engines roared to life in that instant, my ears perked in the direction of the sound. 

I stood facing the apparatus and swatted an insect away from my face. I hesitated closing the door intending to vent out the foul air, but decided to close the door, preferring complete seclusion and encapsulation in the flimsy metal and acrylic chamber. I fished out the roll of quarters I normally kept in the glove box of my car which I had pocketed. I touched the black plastic and metallic apparatus hesitant to lift the receiver and insert the proper coinage. I last used this phone at least eight months ago, when I slammed its receiver against the hook in a loud chime.

My relationship with Sebastian Horowitz ended that day. My pleading could not bring the panther back to the U.S.A. We met in the euphoria of springtime and pledged commitment tangled in ecstatic union the very night we crossed paths. I will always remember tracing my fingers through his mottled amber fur in fascination with the stark contrast to mine, arctic white, bodies bared in his dimly lit bedroom. We wanted the same thing; a love that would endure six months. Ours lasted seven. 

One day he told me “A mind, an education like yours is wasted bussing around the filthy rich.” He never understood that I no longer wanted the kind of life I had worked for thus far, the life of a Van Claude for example. I had seen peers corrupted, absorbed into the hetero-normative Moloch of banks and corporate culture. Friends robbed of time and loved ones torn apart by obligations. Schedule permitted friendship and sex by appointment only, or ordered exclusively through high-end services. Sebastian said “I know people in London City, I can get us both work there. Things are different over thre, the business works differently. We will find time to be together.” I didn’t want a part of that work anymore. Duty put me through an MBA at USC. Six months after graduation I walked out of my first internship and never looked back. I took a job driving around the seniority. Comfortable outside as an observer watching that world unfold, Van Claude’s world, through the rear view mirror. 

I stood there eight months ago when he told me he booked a flight back to London, he would leave in seven days. He told me it wasn’t too late to change my mind. He asked me to come back to reality and make the right choice. He called me a waste of time. A furious slam and the ring of internal phone bell was my reply. In my anger I kicked the Plexiglas panel on the bottom of the booth, shattering it. A hole still remained unrepaired. Sebastian would want things for me that I did not want for myself. 
I looked down at the fist-sized hole in the fractured Plexiglas and spider web of shattered plastic. I pinched my lips and averted my eyes resisting the sensation of remorse. Was it possible to feel empathy for an inanimate object? I could not see far beyond the scratched and etched Plexiglas, perhaps halfway through the parking lot before the circle of lighted ground diminished into black. Isolated floodlights radiated diffused halos in the distance. I felt alone battling the terrible feeling of loss, unsure of what went lost; or rather which loss was the most significant. 

In the booth, isolated from the parking lot and the rest of the world were it not the receiver I smiled and huffed a quick breath through my nostrils in amusement. I stood in a focal point, a nexus of memory and pain detached and lost as if drifting into oblivion. Some internal force drew me there like the moth I shared the space with, perched upon florescence unable to meld with the light. I brought myself to this nucleus, drawn to the past and to the burden of memory and confrontation of pain. Amused, I smiled at the absurdity of late summer melancholy. Here I could recognize the loss I experienced and brought with me and expose it as little more than psychosomatic craving for a reopening of healed wounds. I knew I didn’t need that, here I could move on.

I was ready to confront the last and only real or potentially real loss; the loss of Van Claude. Calling his home would be a gamble, the risks were clear. I breached professional conduct and invaded the privacy of my employer jeopardizing the fragile relationship. That is if you could call whatever happen a relationship. Clearly, since the night he invited me into the back of the Mercedes something changed. I spent that night sleepless after leaving my employer at his residence. Remedying shame and vexation with continuous masturbation and wishing erotic fantasies into existence, then penalizing myself with disgust and remorse. The next morning a call came. Van Claude spoke, providing me with his weekly appointments and schedule, dictating the services he required. I obediently penned down his remarks. With a curt farewell he hung up making no mention of the previous night. 

I sat there, naked, on the side of my bed in my Redondo Beach apartment. The room already warm with summer morning sunshine. The cell phone call had placated some of my worst fears. Apparently the job I did for him that night pleased him enough to keep me as his driver. Most likely he didn’t perceive me as much of a threat as I had no connections to his work or his family. I was just a harmless fox, convenient for him to make use of, to help him get what he wasn’t getting at home. Or maybe it was just the kink of ordering a guy to suck his cock. Was he attracted to me? Or was I just in an easy position to exploit? Had I been the first, the first willing, or the last in a long line of his drivers to share a backseat with? The real-estate banking profession, like banking in general, is extremely hetero-normative. I would genuinely empathize with him if he was acting out, sating an urge that he was not allowed to express otherwise. Maybe it was just a power trip and his sick fetish. 

I admired Van Claude. He always impressed with the pristine cut of his clothing, the way he carried himself and the confidence with which he spoke. I feared him. I found myself careful around him, unwilling to displease him in any way. I also pitied him. I was trained in banking and knew the life he was living. I left the profession because I did not want to be like him, he is what I may have become, a lonely pervert who has to order people around to get off. I couldn’t condemn him though. I knew too little about him.

I stumbled to the bathroom to perform my daily ritual of hygiene before making my way back up the San Diego freeway to pick up Van Claude and start the week. While in the shower I questioned my feelings for my employer. I did not love him, nor was I crushing on him, he was just my boss. I always behaved reverently around him and clearly I admired him, but that was my job as a hired service. I found it easy to be respectful since Van Claude commanded respect, even if he did not ask for it. He exuded a certain charisma, he was mysterious and strikingly handsome. I would never have thought that he might me attracted to me, or even men in general. Even if he selected me out of perversion it was still flattering. When I left the shower I looked myself in the mirror and saw the tip of my cock perking decisively out my sheath, a point of pink standing out of my otherwise spotless pure white fur. 

That week passed rather quickly and to be honest it was business as usual. It was the end of august and unusually hot, even the beach cities were sweltering. The interior of the Mercedes kept me cool during the days but my beach apartment had no air conditioning so I would look forward to work, to driving Van Claude around in the cool black limousine. I crisscrossed the streets toward poles of east and west along Sunset and Wilshire, and north and south along the 405 or Sepulveda. Little had changed since the night at the airport, there were no awkward moments, nothing overly uncomfortable about working for him. Perhaps I forgave him and genuinely wanted a normal relationship. Perhaps he appreciated that. The only difference was that when I picked him up that Monday, my courtesy smile was returned as Van Claude stepped into the vehicle. Seeing him smile seemed a tad uncanny, but it gave me comfort and made me feel a little less guilty. 

I hadn’t had sex for about eight months or so. It happened back when I lived with my panther Sebastian a week or so before our dispute and his departure. That happened back in December during an epic week long rain shower. We celebrated the end of his final quarter at USC School of Business at some of the famous gay clubs in West Hollywood. Clubs were not my cup of tea but Sebastian enjoyed them and loved the music. On the ride home Sebastian accused the cab driver of overcharging and got into a hilarious altercation that ended up with us being dropped off in the rain somewhere on Sepulveda in El Segundo. Emitting intoxicated laughter we stumbled to Sebastian’s home at least two miles off in Manhattan Beach. Soaked to the bone we arrived at his apartment, stripped and made love for warmth in the electric blue neon mood-light of his bedroom, listening to the low beat of house music turned down on the radio. We fell asleep exhausted, damp matted fur against damp mated fur. In the morning the bed sheets had absorbed most of the moisture.

I would remember times like this, the sex and suggestive hints, when the Mercedes got stuck on the dense San Diego Freeway during afternoon traffic. Often with Van Claude preoccupied with telephone conversations or other business in the passenger compartment. I entertained such thoughts to distract me from the endless gridlock. My sheath would swell craving intimacy restrained in my uniform pants. The driver’s compartment of the vehicle was unfortunately too public a location to address my arousal, but that wouldn’t stop me from sending a paw down to occasionally caress my restrained sheath in a deft sleight of hand. Since the night at the airport I have found my mind wandering in a different direction, namely toward the passenger in the compartment. I remained unsure what his motivation was for asking me back there, or if he had plans to it again. I found myself hoping he would. 

That Friday I returned to Van Claude’s place of work and waited in the Mercedes in my accustomed position in a side street off Wilshire in Century City. Van Claude’s office was in one of the many high rises along that street. I never saw his office, though I have waited outside almost daily during my employment. That night I waited longer than usual, his accustomed pick up time is seven P.M. but at a quarter till eight I still hadn’t received any word. I noticed it was getting dark already, the sun had set and dusk began to set in. The sky glowed amber-orange and purple in the post sunset ambiance. Daylight stuck the high-rise and the canopies of trees but I realized that the long summer days became shorter, autumn would be upon us soon. Not like L.A. really has a fall season, but it meant the time came to anticipate the few albeit unpleasant rainy winter months. 

I sat, spread out in the front seat of the limousine chewing on a thick Canters sandwich I had picked up on the way over. That moment my cell phone rang. I normally keep two cells around, one private, one business. I could tell by the ring, an annoying default ringtone, which one it was. It had to be Van Claude requesting pick up. I hastily swallowed a large bite of sandwich, and picked up the phone hitting its answer button and stating my polite greeting, trying not to sound like there was food in my mouth. 
As expected Van Claude hung on the line. He spoke, “I am not entirely ready for pick up yet, please excuse the delay. In fact, I have a favor to ask of you.”  I nearly burst a laugh, resisting the urge to blurt out “Need another blow-job?” He continued, “Apparently, our corporate courier was injured earlier today. There is a bundle of documents that need to be authorized immediately to conclude an important transaction. I know this is outside your job description, but would you be willing to bring them here from downtown?” 

Being a Friday night and desperately needing distraction from the sexual tension I experienced, I hoped to hit Hollywood for some clubbing. Maybe even the opportunity of a fortuitous rendezvous. I would have turned him down, had I not had sympathy. I knew he would not be leaving until those documents where on his desk. He would probably send me home and have me call it a night, hailing a cab home if and when he finished. I suspected there was a wife he wanted to see. I sighed and agreed hanging up briskly after a brief set of instructions and curt goodbye.

While Downtown is not geographically far, Friday night meant that traffic hadn’t thinned out substantially. I drove from Freeway to surface streets trying to find the route of least resistance, returning an hour and a half or so later. I parked near his office and exited the vehicle. Frustrated, I rang him on the phone. He asked me to bring the documents to his office, instructing me to see the receptionist on the first floor. He also provided me with his floor and office number which I reluctantly penned down.

This was getting predictable. I didn’t have to think too hard to figure out what the overworked badger had in mind for me. I smiled and thought “What a plot”. I fooled that night at the airport. I let my guard down and trusted a practitioner of a profession I knew too well. If I went up there, I’d surely find myself in some compromising position satisfying the badger’s perverted needs. 

I kicked the tire of the Mercedes and cursed. He wanted his slutty fox of a chauffeur to bring some, in all likelihood irrelevant documents, so he could get some tail. He didn’t want the receptionist to bring them, he didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to hand them over; he wanted me up there that night. I stood there on the curb off Wilshire in the summer night, the street was still busy. Commuter traffic gave way to the leisure crowd as the youth of the city migrated to Hollywood, to the south bay, to clubs and concerts along magnificent mile. Standing pensive on the curbside in the early evening, dressed in my elegant black uniform, I waited conflicted as to my options. I felt tempted to drive off, to quit the next morning and seek out a new hire. I turned and looked at the vehicle. While I didn’t mind the semi-consensual encounter at the airport, I didn’t want to be exploited or degraded into an erotic plaything. I was not that kind of a fox.

I had planned to be in Hollywood by now. I somehow felt obligated to visit some of best known clubs in the area. I couldn’t remember the last time I went out and danced. I actually hated dancing and couldn’t be considered the biggest fan of the music either. I went up there several times that summer, the year after Sebastian’s departure, in an effort to get myself out. It’s hard to spend time at a West Hollywood club and not get some sort of invitation home, or at least a pervy ass-grab, which counted for something after all. I couldn’t care less at this point; I was ready for some company. I doubt I would find the kind of relationship I was looking for, especially not in Hollywood, but at this point I would settle for an arrogant canine and a sketchy one night stand. I thought about waking up in a strange bed, sore from sex and alcohol, sighing with disappointment. How many more times would I have to go through that? 

I looked up at Van Claude’s office building. Most of the windows were black in the glass and steel structure, only a few windows shone with inner light and most of those dimly. I guessed Van Claude was one of the last people in there, waiting for me. If it was just sex I was after I knew where I could get it. I felt my cock stir at that idea, twitching within my sheath. He wasn’t really that bad. He looked incredibly good, he had charisma, and rich as anyone could hope for. He was relatively young, older than me, but only his forties. I knew I didn’t have a place in his life. He was probably married or at least dating some high end chick. If he wanted a life with a guy, he probably could have had it without me. Then again, would I have a place in the life of the countless men currently heading to West Hollywood? Probably not. 

I remembered holding his erect cock in my paw, sliding my paw pads along the slick shaft as I kissed and suckled the tip. I relished the guiding touch of his paw and the lingering taste of his seed in my muzzle for the rest of the evening. These thoughts followed me through the week intensifying my already strained libido. I took a look at the brown envelope containing the allegedly important documents, then up at the building. I actually considered it. If I went up there and brought him these documents, it would be my choice this time. I wasn’t going to let myself be coerced. I would go up because I wanted to be part of whatever Van Claude wanted. Like at the airport that Sunday, we both wanted the same thing. This time I didn’t need to be told what I wanted, I knew. 

It was not without trepidation that I walked around the corner onto brightly lit and well-trafficked Wilshire Boulevard. A stretch limousine much larger than mine passed to my left, I was not jealous, nor did I envy the driver. The lobby of Van Claude’s office building appeared vast and opulent. Both floors and walls consisted of black granite adorned with brass fixtures. Several deject looking ficus plants stood positioned around the interior space. My footsteps echoed as I entered and strode across toward the reception desk. The lobby was nearly vacant except for a bored receptionist and maintenance worker buffing the polished floors. The lights had been turned down throughout the establishment resulting in after-hours gloom. The young feline receptionist looked up at me expectantly as I approached removing an ear plug from her Mp3 player while turning my direction. I noticed she used her computer to research fashion magazines of some sort, reading an article on mascara. I asked her to direct me to the office of Van Claude, explaining the package of documents I held. She pointed at the elevator and reiterated the floor and office number I already recorded. She picked up the phone and notified Van Claude as I thanked her and turned toward the elevator. 

The elevator ride to the sixth floor seemed excessively long. In the seclusion of the elevator I could feel my confined sheath swollen and maleness press against my pants. I slyly adjusted myself pressing the palm of my paw against the bulge hoping that no security cameras watched. I felt the tip of my manhood emerged from its sheath-slit. I certainly could not deny my arousal. I actually would go through with it. I turned to the side and gazed at the reflection of myself in one of the polished brass panels of the elevator. I checked my visage to see if my embarrassment shone through the white fur of my cheeks in the form of a reddish blush and if the bulge within my pants was too overt. Even if my appearance belied my emotions, the scent of my arousal would be a tell-all. My own scent could not escape my powerful nose, nor would it escape Van Claude. Badgers are notoriously perceptive.  

The elevator doors opened into a long corridor of office space. Compartments, windows, doors stood on either side. The wide hallway was only partially lit, illuminating the space in a pale grayish light. The drone of a vacuum cleaner hummed out of sight. The windows of the compartmentalized offices were dark, but for one on the north side of the building. I didn’t need instructions to tell me where to go. I felt my heart pound as I walked down the hall toward the one lit office window. The interior blinds were shut, but light ominously shone through. I confirmed the office number and stood there hesitantly. My arousal still pressed against the inside of my trousers. I knocked and immediately heard Van Claude’s deep voice speak “Come in.”

I entered observing the badger sitting at his desk illuminated by the pallor of a desk lamp and computer screen. The office was organized in a rather stylish mid-century arrangement. Van Claude sat behind a broad executive desk accompanied by Eames era accessories including a lamp, ash tray and rolodex. “Who still used a rolodex in the twenty-first century?” I thought to myself. The badger eyed the envelope under my arm then nodded at his desk and pointed at a Danish seating arrangement with a wide couch and spoke “Have a seat.” I dropped the envelope on his desk and turned to sit on Danish sofa.  He thanked me as I sat down on one side of the couch adjacent from him. My paw pads caressed the polished teak armrest. I admired the office furnishings and noticed a painting on the wood panel wall, which I immediately identified as a late expressionist Stuart Sutcliffe original. 

The Badger himself seemed most interesting.  I observed him open the envelope with his claw, spreading the contents across the broad expanse of his desk. His eyes appeared dark in the dim light of the office fixated on the documents in front of him. Two stripes of black fur stretched from his muzzle over his eyes, forehead and ears. The tips of his ears were crowned with white tufts, as white as the rest of his face. His facial markings contrasted starkly with the dim surroundings. His black, clawed paws deftly filed the paperwork. He sorted without so much as looking up, stamped and signed the documents one by one. Behind him a view of mid-city unfolded. The city lights crept up to the base of the Hollywood hills on the other side of the valley to the north. The Hollywood sign glowed illegibly small in the distance. Outlying houses and estates perched upon the hills as dots of light.

The badger remained focused on the documents, apparently disinterested in me. I sat there, distracted by the view behind him when he spoke, “I called you up here to apologize about last Sunday. That was out of line. I should not have subjected you to that.” The badger did not look up. My eyebrows rose in surprise. I did not expect Van Claude to admit error, let alone regret at something he so decisively took pleasure in. In that moment I felt nearly as shocked as when I initially comprehended his proposition the other night. It was obviously not easy for him to confess remorse, especially at a matter so sensitive. I hesitated; my lower lip trembled as I considered an appropriate reply. The badger looked up at me. His dark grey eyes reflected the dim amber light of the desk lamp. His gaze revealed genuine affliction, I accepted that he was deeply troubled and immediately empathized. A moment of silence enveloped us both. The drone of the vacuum down the hall ceased and total quiet ensued. The badgers gaze began to look expectant as I clamored for an answer. 

“It’s Okay.” I said, looking down, covering my face with my paw in a moment of my own embarrassment. “You where right,” I murmured “that was something we apparently both needed. To be honest, I enjoyed it and I hope you did too.” I sighed deeply following my statement.
The badger leaned back and swiveled his chair to the side and gazed, eyes averted indistinctly at the wall as if at one of the several plaques and framed certificates there. “I did” he said pensively.
I watched from the Danish sofa. The badger appeared like he did the other night, totally exhausted in this moment of privacy. It was almost 10pm. The building stood vacant and only he and I remained behind. I feared would happen to me. Van Claude in all his pride, his dynamism and his intellect sat trapped here. The city outside the window seethed as if alive, yet he was stuck in the gloom of his stylish office late into the night. He was willing to gamble his reputation and a better part of his life on me, to expose a core part of his nature.

“Why me?” I asked. He smiled, turned his muzzle in my direction and stood up. Walking around his desk and over to a matching Danish armchair adjacent from me. “Do you have to ask?” He replied as he sat. 
“I won’t deny that I find you very attractive, and have since I first saw you. To be honest, I sort of envy you and I know your history, I hired you after all.” I smiled shyly and gazed at him, feeling my cheeks flush beneath my fur. He still looked powerful and dynamic even in his dejection. I had empathy for him, we shared a mutual understanding. He stared off again eyes glancing downward “Will you forgive me?”
“I don’t have too.” I replied. In that moment I felt that I began to understand my employer. Several of my expectations confirmed, revealing a genuinely more mortal vision of him. He seemed real now, personal and proximal. He looked handsome even as he crouched forward, hunched over with his tie dangling between his knees. I admired the distinct lines of fur on his face and the attractive shape of his image. I was no longer here for what I expected but I felt an opportunity, a longing to connect. I extended my paw which he took in his, holding it firmly in the warm breadth of his own. 
 
We sat adjacent one another, paw held within paw in the early night, silent but for the occasional muted noise of traffic from the street below. I felt glad that Van Claude had opened up to me. I enjoyed his presence not as an employer, but potentially a friend. While he confided in me, he remained mysterious, an agent of the unknown. He sat, leaning forward toward me in the shadows of his office. We both turned and faced the cityscape behind his desk. Clusters of high-rises rose from the carpet of lights demarking the various nodes of the megalopolis. The starless black of the sky lay over us in contrast to the light below. I felt something brush my whiskers and turned, finding Van Claude’s lips gently placed upon my muzzle. It surprised me to feel the tender touch of his lips brush my whiskers. I was taken aback and nearly jerked away. Van Claude asked “Is this okay?”  I smiled and replied with an equally tender kiss upon his lips.   

When I came here I expected a quick fuck and a pat on the butt, not this moment of tenderness. We both leaned into the kiss tilting our heads, making the embrace whole. Our paws moved together and folded into one another, merging between us. My fingers ran over Van Claude’s large strong hands, bushing along the fur of his fingers and his slender polished claws. I breathed deeply, inhaling the badgers scent over my own. His scent, his touch and his proximity made me aware of the singularity of the moment. I experienced intimacy that I hadn’t experienced since Sebastian. I was ready to leave the past behind and embrace something unknown. An involuntary need or desire to experience more drew me to guide his paws clasped within mine toward me, urging Van Claude closer. With the gentlest of tugs he came, sitting next to me on the couch in his office through one careful movement as not to break the kiss. He brought a paw around my shoulders and I circled mine around his waist. His paw came to rest on my knee and I placed mine on top of his. Our kiss lasted for many minutes. With lips gliding against lips, we held our kiss superficial, both of us apprehensive as how to proceed. 

I was the first to send my tongue-tip darting against the badger’s lips, apprehensive and teasing at first. He quickly responded to my subtle invitation, parting my lips and probing the interior of my muzzle. My tongue flicked and slid against his in ever intensifying passion. The growing intimacy of our kiss augmented the fervor with which we embraced. I felt his paws clasp my shoulders firmer than before, an indication that what I had invited could not be stopped. I suckled on his tongue allowing it to explore my muzzle and flick over my teeth and its interior. I was eager to slip inside his and lap along his fangs which I did at the first opportunity. As I breathed, the scents of our mutual arousal became palpable. The perception of both our scents, tastes and touch aided in abating the timidity between us. 

We soon found each other embraced with the intensity of an overdue lifting of restraint. Our paws began to glide across the elegant clothing we both wore, finally free to explore each other’s bodies in their totality. One last barrier remained, namely the layers of expensive fabric between us. I desired to strip the badger of his clothing, see him bared and touch every aspect of his body. I remained hesitant, unwilling to go a step too far too fast and disrupt the intimacy of the moment. I kept my restraint, content in allowing the instant to endure as I was enjoying myself greatly within the badger’s embrace. I still didn’t know how far this would go. I wondered, would Van Claude interject at some moment and pull back? Was this really happening, would we make love there in the vacant office?

The badger answered my questions when he moved his paw up my leg and onto my belly, undoing the a few buttons of my shirt. He slipped his paw in and under my t-shirt spreading his fingers, and running them through my soft white belly-fur.  My body shivered as his paw continued to slide up my torso causing muscles to twitch out of sensitivity. My breathing hastened and I began to cling to him with all my strength. The modest gesture of opening a button spoke volumes, expressive of the badger’s will, or rather our mutual will. He wanted me exposed, nude and defenseless. Had I not shown myself eager to comply, the badger’s touch would have ensured my willingness. 

We took occasional brief breaks from the kiss as we began to shed, or strip each other of articles of clothing, returning to impassioned embrace as each item fell to the floor. I pulled off his jacket and he tugged off his tie. His deft fingers undid the buttons of my trousers and shirt allowing me to slip out of both. Soon we lay on top of one another feeling each other’s bodies and the bulges of our arousals through undergarments which too came from our bodies, cast onto the growing pile of our mingled clothing beside Van Claude’s desk. 

I lay on top of him upon the Danish sofa, free to touch and explore his naked well defined form. His paws slid up and down my flanks, often gliding beneath my tail and over my butt. Our sheaths brushed and rubbed against one another, coaxing out the growing lengths, pressed into the supple fur of our torsos. My body rose and fell, synchronous with the rhythm of his breath. My paws caressed the black stripes of facial fur up and over his rounded ears. I always took joy in touch, especially the erotic touch of nude bodies, bared fur, and exposed arousal. I knew the importance of touch, and wished for nothing but to exploit the tactile function of memory.

It was in these moments, the moments of anticipation, where I tried most to savor the pre-coital excitement. It seemed as though I could feel the badger’s own immense eagerness in the taught muscles of his broad shoulders and chest. We swept our paws across one another, familiarizing ourselves with the strangeness of each other’s bodies. His black paws slid through my white fur as mine swept across the bare white fur of his chest, tracing downward over his slender belly. My fingers extended into his coarser pubic fur and brushed against his bare arousal as if by accident. I felt his body rise as he inhaled sharply, the brief touch enough to send a shudder of longing through his entire body. My fingers reached and gripped his erect cock which pulsed within my paw. His abdomen tensed and flexed with my slight and careful movement. I once again held his member, but under far different circumstances. I came without hesitation and reservations, eager to please the badger but assured my needs would be met as well.  I began to stroke his familiar shape and girth directing the drops of pre emanating from his tip down the rest of his shaft, slickening his member in the process. He bucked with need, pushing his member against me, leaving matted streaks of pre upon me. 

His paws too caressed my slender body, one of which soon joined mine between us. I gasped, breaking the kiss as his paw encompassed my desperate cock. His large paw fully held my entire member. I never considered myself small. It amazed me that he could hold my entire length and swelling knot in just one hand. I bucked into his paw and shuddered with bliss, kissing the badger’s muzzle and whiskers applying intermittent cute laps and nuzzles, encouraging him and showing my appreciation. 

We would kiss, pant and nuzzle intermittently as we both stroked one another. Our cocks grew slick with pre and easily slid through each other’s paws. The pleasure felt so immense I thought many times I would burst and shower the badger’s stomach with my seed. I had to pace myself and concentrate on keeping myself contained, for the moment at least. Although I knew what would come next and personally wanted nothing more than to take Van Claude within me, I didn’t how and when he would make his next move and rightfully claim me. 

After a moment he broke the kiss and leaned back into the cushions. He smiled at me and stared affectionately with his big gray eyes, blazing out of the dim light of the room, showing facets of himself capable of utmost tenderness. “Do you want too?” he asked, nodding down at our cocks between us, held within the stroke of each other’s paws. He reached out his free paw, brushing my whiskers and cheek. I felt myself blush slightly and smiled, batting my ears cutely and directing them backward with a hint of slyness. I touched and scratched the bottom of his chin and nodded, replying, “I’d love to.” It didn’t take long for me to lean back and straddled him, letting my body express just how ready I felt.
I hadn’t brought any lube with me that day, as I didn’t expect to find myself in this situation. Nor could I assume Van Claude had conveniently brought some with him to work either.  I looked at him with a hint of concern beneath my smile. He remedied the situation by bringing his paw to his muzzle, applying a broad wet lick across his paw-pads. That paw then darted beneath my tail, which I raised seductively as I adjusted my position. The soft paw-pads of his fingers brushed my furless tail-hole, lubricating the smooth supple entrance. I inhaled sharply as he touched the most intimate part of my body. I felt my cock throb and pre leak, trickling onto the badger’s belly. It seemed like an eternity since I had been with someone who I could reveal the personal details of my body, let alone permit to touch my tail-hole and enter its warmth. 

Despite the improvisational lubricant, I worried that my body was too tight for the badger’s girth, afraid that the long period of chastity had rendered me too snug and sensitive to adequately enjoy our imminent union. I stroked the badgers’ shaft, feeling it unusually slick with pre, allowing my fingers to easily slide along the girth. The badger’s cock was larger than mine even if slightly, he clearly had more girth than my slender knotted foxcock. I stared at it for a while as I idly massaged its venous pink shape. I confess I hungered for it, beyond willing to feel it within me. In that moment I craved nothing more than to be filled with it from tip to base, thrust deep, spilling seed within my body. In my desire I deemed the slickness of his pre as adequate lubrication and burned to complete our union. 

Van Claude continued to massage my slick pucker, delicately to avoid uncomfortable contact with his claws. He then held my butt cheek and lifted me forward and up. With great anticipation I repositioned myself above him, angling his cock-tip up toward my rear. I brought the tip to my furless tail-hole, rubbing it against the smooth region, coaxing a drop of pre there to further slicken my opening. The badger growled beneath me with mounting anticipation. I saw the needy, lusty look in his eyes. Empathizing with his stare I realized we were both too deprived for teasing. I allowed my body to descend, instantly feeling my tight pucker spread apart by the girth of the badger’s slick cock-tip.
I gasped as his broad member slid within me, slowly filling my tight tail-hole. I shuddered, quickly forced to grow re-accustomed to the sensation of union. 

The badger began to squeeze and stroke my cock adding another dimension of sensation to the experience. Pleasure and the unique, erotic burning of fullness, causing my entire body to tremble as nerves flared in my every limb. The badger then bucked upward, lustfully forcing his entire shaft into my bare tail-hole, hilting me in one slick movement. I grunted audibly and winced as the immense fullness echoed through my nervous system. I felt my cock pulse stiffly, held within the badgers paw.  My tail-hole flexed and spasmed, griping the smooth girth of Van Claude’s cock-base. The badger’s sheath-fur brushed the smooth taught skin of my opening. 

So overcome by the myriad of sensations, I barely noticed Van Claude take command of my body. His strong paws rested on my hip and clasped around my arousal. He began to guide me, lift me up and tug me down, sliding my body along his immense-feeling shaft. I merely braced myself on his shoulder and the teak armrest of the sofa. The couch was big enough for us both to lie flat. I hoped it would be sturdy enough to support our lovemaking. The wood frame creaked as our rocking grew more intense. 
The badger gasped beneath me, obviously taking pleasure from the warm surroundings of my passage. His body would shift and his hips would angle as his paws guided me. The badger willed my entire body to do his bidding. I eagerly obeyed, harboring my own selfish desires and needs, advanced with each thrust. My paw moved and clasped the fur of his chest, clinging tightly and needy to him. I felt his muscles tense and his breathing grow heavy and fast as he assumed a slow deep rhythm of lovemaking. His guiding motions allowed his cock to slip deep into me, far deeper that I had assumed possible. I felt every ridge and feature of his cock tug and slide against my insides, stretched to the brink of comfort, tantalizingly full. 

His hot exhalation passed over me, just as I huffed, gasped and shuddered in response to the waves of sensation. My heart-rate quickened and my breathing accelerated. Through the slits of my eyes I observed him, panting with lips barely parted. His steel eyes shone through his eyelids, glimmering sparks within the black stripes upon his face. I leaned forward, kissing his parted lips, lashing my tongue on into his muzzle. He churred softly as we kissed. His firm grasp upon my hip resided and became a gentle stroke from flank to thigh. I moaned into the kiss in response, urged on by the badger’s tender touch. 

Lost within the tempest of electric nerve impulses, writhing from limb to appendage to neural node, my body shook and trembled in ecstatic hallucination. Our union persisted, intense, immense and heated. The stoic rhythm of thrusts penetrated my body, intimately unsettling my expectations, marking me as a participant in the transgression of taboo. Murmured promises echoed unvoiced through synaptic hallways imploring the union of body and spirit. Burgeoning awareness of flesh, fluid as animal ether sprang as if from the materiality of intercourse, heightening experience with the sheer immensity of bodies in interplay alone in the vastness of seclusion above the cities in the vacuum of the night.
The scents of bodies, the badger and my own, persisted and surpassed the strangeness of the office. The essence of our collective arousal wafted as if viscous throughout the still, quiet air. I breathed deep, relishing the olfactory evidence of sex. My arousal pulsed within Van Claude’s paw, thankfully careful now as not to over-stimulate my deprived member. He thrust continuously, easily through my passage and the tight ring of muscle that flexed futilely against his slick mass. I am sure his ample pre added to the lubrication permitting the ever growing intensity with which he thrust. 

 I broke the kiss, beginning to pant heavily. I gazed at the badger below me. His features grew disconnected, the steel focus in his eyes appeared hazy as if distant, perhaps visualizing the tug and pull of his cock against the tender walls of my pre slick tail-hole. I felt his thrusts grow hastier and his pace quicken progressively. The weight of his paw on my waist felt firmer. I leaned back, meeting his intense thrusts, feeling his cock delve deeper in me than before, harsh through the delicate and pre-coated regions within me. I exclaimed with a heated gasp and muffled grunt enjoying every sensation. I looked downward, past my slender stomach at my dark pink cock held within Van Claude’s black paw in contrast to the white fur of his chest and belly. 

The badger resumed stroking and massaging my firm shaft as if willing his own climax through me.  My knot fully formed indicating imminent release. His fur beneath my cock-tip became totally matted, soaked with my pre which had been flowing in copious amounts since our union began. I braced myself on his shoulders, using the badger as leverage to push myself back onto his shaft as he withdrew rigorously meeting his hips with each thrust in a selfish bid to garner the stimulation I needed for release. I felt his cock pass along my prostate adding tantalizing pressure. I felt the sum total of tactile stimulation triggering a chain of events that I could not stop. I felt growing warmth begin to engulf my loins from my tail-hole, to my prostate, wholly including my cock. I grit and bared my teeth unable and unwilling to slow our movement, willing to carry out my release without pause.

Van Claude too refused to allow me respite. I felt his grip upon my member renew itself, twist and caressing the sensitive features he already mastered. As his paw-pads caressed my cock-tip, the sensitive slit and tender ridges I knew my climax was unstoppable.  My whole body shuddered as my seed began to jet in long white bursts across his belly and chest. It had been too long since I perceived this constellation of different stimulations. The moment appeared new to me, as intense and illicit as a loss of virginity. Thick pulses of cum showered the badger, who at the sight or reception of the pungent scent redoubled the intensity of his motions. Ample cum continued to leak from my maleness, matting the badger’s chest-fur. The pleasure did not cease with the waning of my climax, but intensified with the oversensitivity of my intimate regions. 

The badger let go of my slippery over-sensitive cock and brought his cum soaked paw to my waist to aid in guiding me for his own pleasure. It was his turn now. It was time for him to contradict the anxieties, prohibitions and taboos of his profession and within his private life. It was time for him to conclude the union in blissful, deserved release, time to fill his willing fox with his seed. This was about him now. I obeyed his guiding touch, the miniscule corrections to my movement and the indication of subtle needs. My tail-ring flexed and fluttered in post-ejaculatory overstimulation, compounded with occasional intentional squeezes in vain to grasp his slick shaft. I obeyed his guidance, swaying back and forth in post orgasmic bliss, cognizant of the part of the badger within my body.  

My body rose, nearly to the point of withdrawal and then came down heavily hilting him in each cycle of movement. His sheath pressed against me as I landed. The movements continued at a rapid pace, yet somehow grew quicker and more hectic. His motions lost the rhythm he had started with and now became desperate and furious. All I could do was brace myself and try and keep up. My tail-hole and intimate passage felt hot with friction. My ears swept back and my parted lips quivered. I panted, leaning forward strained with sensation and bodily tension. Our muzzles remained close to each other, huffing heated breath. My whiskers brushed against the badgers gently in marked contrast. His grip upon my waist grew firmer, and with a mighty tug he pulled me down, hilting me one last time. His hot shaft pulsed within me releasing hot badger cum into my core, jetting deep within me and seeping into the corners of my passage. All I could voice was a lusty gasp and emit a soft moan as the sensation of being filled with what I had lusted after computed in my mind. The badger continued to buck, forcing his shaft as far as he could, ensuring that all his seed landed deep and secure, a successful mating his new fox.  All his muscles strained in unison, tensed, willing his climax to persist as heavily and as long as possible.

We held still in that moment, until every drop of seed had been leaked into my tight passage. The badger then began to relax his grip and fell back into the cushions of the sofa. My hips stayed connected to his as I collapsed on top of him, resting against the fur on his chest which I had made damp. I felt his cock begin to soften within me, but my tail-hole still felt full, and burned with the delightful post-coital experience. Muffled panting resonated mutedly through the room and the heavy scent of sex lingered above us amidst the stylish furnishings. Gravity returned to our senses. I laid my head beneath the badger’s chin, breathing heavily to catch my breath. My paw rested on his shoulders with my white furred fingers embedded in the badger’s black fur. We lay in afterglow, exhausted and spent.

Bliss and lust gave way to a less determinate emotion as the nebula of sexual desire faded from my senses. I had allowed myself to be mated, bred by a still strange partner. I stared at the contrast of our furs observing the black and white intermingled upon his shoulder. My softening cock pulsed at the thought. There was something erotic about the strange. Perhaps that’s what I came here to experience. Stranger still and much more forbidden was the fact that I had taken an employer into my body. His diminishing cock still remained buried within me, leaking seed as it shrank within the clutches of my tail-hole. I knew little about the badger, of his private life or personal status. Was our union infidelity? Whatever viable considerations passed through my mind did not diminish the heat between us. Our union was hot, lusty and good. Whatever doubts could not cancel the erotic of the evening and perhaps even intensified the experience.

The badger held me against him. His broad paws slowly caressed me as we both caught our breath. He stroked my spine from my neck down to my tail-base. I shivered in my nudity. His whiskers brushed against my backswept ears as he applied a soft peck of a kiss between them. I murred softly, exhausted and used. Time passed outside the window. Traffic poured in all directions as if in time-lapse. The badger’s cock eventually slipped from the grasp of my intimate passage, leaving me vacant but for the flood of badger cum deposited there. My wet bare opening felt cool, immediately longing for the return of the badger’s warm shaft and the heated friction of sex. “Thank you,” the badger spoke concluding the peaceful post-coital silence, “you were wonderful. I’ve never experienced anything like that before.” 
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“You are my first.” 
“You’re kidding? First boy, or?” I asked, confused.
“First boy, yes.” He nodded. 
I nodded in reply, taken aback and considerably shocked, but too physically drained to express it. I fully understood why the badger would hide this about himself.  His profession demanded discretion as every behavior was under scrutiny, matched with lofty and often incongruent expectations. Still, hearing him confess this was unreal. The badger could have anything he wanted. If he wanted a fling with a boy, he could have had that arranged discreetly, in hotel rooms, on trips or in the vast private sphere he had constructed.  To this day I do not understand why he had waited for me, but I feel elation knowing that he asked me to help him express a suppressed part of himself and initiate him into a part of his life he had thus far denied.

I asked, tepidly, a question that should have been asked at the start, one that I did not want to hear the answer to and had refused to ask during my earlier heat. “Are you with someone else?”
The badger nodded.

I nodded as well experiencing a pang of hurt and guilt. The strange, mysterious badger had instantly grown much more so as I clung to him. I had expected this. I felt too exhausted to react, too understanding to object, and to selfish to condemn him. I do not simply allow my intimate regions to be touched by strangers in pursuit of a tingle, nor do I permit myself to be bred out of lust. If I choose to share my body I expect things in return. I made a decision to be with the badger, in doing so I allowed part of me to change. I allowed a connection so tender and intimate that it could not be satiated by climax and cum. Despite my fears being confirmed, I was neither satiated nor discouraged, merely disheartened. 

“There is a lot you don’t know about me that I want to tell you” the badger said, stating the obvious.
“I know.” I replied.
“Will you let me?”
I smiled and slipped my paw between us and fiddled with his slippery soft yet still exposed cock and sheath. “I already let you do quite a bit.” I said jokingly.
The badger smiled and kissed my muzzle. “I’m glad” he said “I realize I have a bit of explaining to do.”
“Not as much as you think.”
He huffed, “Where do I begin,” and gazed off pensively up at the ceiling. He then looked at me and said, “The night is still young and this office isn’t quite the best place for a long conversation. Let’s go someplace more personal.” 
I nodded in concurrence, sweeping my gaze across the room.  The office seemed large, but impersonal. I was ready to move on anyway as my hips had become sore. “Where to?” I smiled.
“I’ll have you know you’re off duty now,” the badger said.
“I should hope so,” and smiled absurdly. My cock pulsed with a twinge delight at the suggestive thought. 
“Downtown?” the badger suggested.
I objected, “But there’s nothing to do downtown.”
“I know a place. Feel like Cocktails?”
I laughed, “Do you want a second round already?”
“Not yet, drinks first, then we’ll see.”
“Agreed.”
We both stood, crawling stiffly from the sofa. My hips ached as I got to my feet. I stretched and flexed, cracking my joints. My damp cock-tip disappeared back into its warm sheath as I stood. Damp matted spots covered my entire body. We both reeked of sex. I hoped no one else would notice the erotic scents we emitted. We stood naked and straightened out our bodies, my knees felt a bit wobbly after the long coital session. We began to sift through the carelessly discarded bundle of clothing and began to dress ourselves again. My shirt and pants were all wrinkled. I tried to straighten out the creases but they still looked disheveled. The normally pristine badger seemed no better off. We smiled at each other and gave each other a kiss before we left the room. No sooner had we entered the hall, when I exclaimed “I forgot something” and darted back into the office. Hoping Van Claude would not follow, which he did not, I hastily scanned for some of the badgers personal information be it a card or address book. My eyes fell upon the ancient rolodex which I quickly flicked through finding one entitled “Home”. I tore the card from the rolodex, pocketing it swiftly. Stepping lightly with alacrity, I padded out of the office and walked back to the elevator with the badger on my side. Only our potent scents remained, perhaps lingering long enough to remind Van Claude of our union that night when he returned the next week.

I relished that experience. It was totally forbidden but unlike any other sexual act I performed. I tried to envision the scents and tastes of the badger and longed for his proximity again. My memories urged me on. I counted several quarters from the slender roll and brought them to the coin-slot of the pay phone. I lifted the receiver, hearing the hum of the dial tone and the metallic clank of coins as they filtered through the mechanism. The tone changed from default to a receptive buzz of readiness. My trembling paw, with index finger outstretched approached the keypad.