The Telephone Booth
Part III
By: Rufus Quintin

The black shape of the Mercedes sped eastwards beneath the colonnade of tall palms and streetlamps along the endless boulevard. The luminosity of urban light along the broad road bisecting the vastness of the city expelled the starless black; replacing darkness with the sallow pink of Los Angeles night.   Even as the hours passed the city’s pulse throbbed. Thriving loci of entertainment bustled in vivacious commerce. Patrons of all species migrated in and outdoors past establishments, concert halls and late night eateries. Storefronts and booths dispensed high-carb delights intended to enervate, to sober or to facilitate the ritual gyrations of modern dance upon the floors of music halls, or in the open streets until the gray light of dawn would bring with it the incomparable fatigue of morning.  Life, I thought, was here in excess, indulgent and profuse, immoderate and extravagant. It invited me in and allowed me passage in the seclusion of my vehicle. It welcomed, even as a spectator enshrouded behind metal and tinted glass to pass through the throngs of people desirous of experience, progeny or fornication. 

The badger sat by my side. He chose to ride up front in the driver’s compartment. We slowly crept through stop and go traffic past Beverly Hills and La Brea, passed the diminishing seven digit building numbers, making our way to the lustrous monoliths of downtown. Monstrous skyscrapers rose up ahead, occasionally visible down the road when in line-of-sight. They gleamed in supernatural light, jagged against the rusty sky. Van Claude spoke into his cell phone, hastily making calls telling apologies and lies, making appointments and reservations, cancelling others. We headed to the Bonaventure, one among the many hotel high-rises of Central City. He promised me drinks and declared that he wanted to spend the night with me as we left his office, asking me if I would join him over at the luxury hotel. 

There was something illicit about spending the night with the married badger, despite the fact that we already transgressed numerous taboos as the tantalizing soreness of my tail-hole and the potent scents of sex that seemed to follow us both would attest to. There were few thresholds left to cross, but I felt confident something would reveal itself. I found myself on the other side of boundaries I thought I would never tread across. Though wrong and selfish I could not overcome the urges that seemed to guide my motions. I was letting instincts guide me, turning the wheel east down the endless street without the slightest investigation, taking us silently and resolutely down a path full where the amoral became a source of suspense. This was irrational, and I knew the consequences that accompanied the suspension of reason.

The badger ended his conversation on his cell phone, flipped and pocketed the device. He shifted closer to me on the bench seat and put his paw on my lap, gliding it toward the persistent outline of my maleness. He smiled at me, and I demurely back at him.
The badger asked, “Are you okay?”
I nodded and replied, “I feel like I should be the one asking that question.”
“I mean, are there any regrets?” 
“None” I said, speaking truthfully.
The badger stared off into the distance, down Wilshire at the heart of the metropolis. Part of the mysterious cool the badger so confidently exhibited returned. I glanced over at him and found it remarkable how he could so subtly shift back from the weary middle aged man from hours earlier to the impenetrable individual of such confidence. Perhaps the sex that energized him or perhaps he naturally collected himself like some machine dynamo. He looked impressive; I had to admit, even in his wrinkled clothing. I was glad to be with him.  
I asked, “So how long have you been married?” 
The badger sighed and remained silent for a moment, the look of contentedness on his features disappeared into a more unreadable expression. He exhaled softly, never taking his gaze from the road ahead. “Eight years”, is all he said.  

I realized I asked something too personal, but the question burnt on my tongue for hours, days. The brief answer was all the confirmation I expected. Though I still had many questions for him, I knew I had better keep most of them to myself. Van Claude was not a badger who would surrender too much information, he was too intelligent to divulge things, especially to some stranger he had just been intimate with. I didn’t need his entire rationale lined up for me either. I experienced enough to understand what motivates people to do what they do. “It’s basis risk”, he said suddenly, giving no further explanation. 

We spent the rest of the drive in silence. Our scents did the talking. The whole vehicle smelt of arousal, and it became more difficult distinguish new scents from those of climax and cum clinging to our fur. The badger lit a cigarette and smoked pensively as we drove through Korea Town. Tobacco haze mingled with our combined scents and eventually drowned out the musky aromas of sex. The badger was wise to smoke, for very little is as overpowering as tobacco. I joined him in smoking, pulling out a pack I kept in the driver’s side door for courtesy and personal emergencies. The buildings around us slowly grew taller and then the space opened up into the massive skyline of downtown. A forest of palms grew beneath the colossal structures, swaying in the tempests driven up by 110 traffic.

We passed over the harbor freeway then turned north to the Bonaventure. Traffic still churned north to the Arroyo Seco and south to San Pedro. Traffic on Wilshire progressively thinned, downtown appeared nearly vacant by the time we arrived. Its streets empty aside from cabs and vagrants guiding pushcarts. Aside from the cultural venues, I never considered downtown much of an attraction; too much of it dominated by the fiscal world. Van Claude knew the area well I presumed, trips downtown often stood on his daily agenda. I’d say he knew the area by heart. I only knew it from within the Mercedes and voyeuristic excursions to Chandler Pavilion and the sketchy yet delicious fast restaurants north of the 101.  

The tall glass building that housed the Bonaventure laid ahead, its cylindrical towers reaching upward out of sight. I drove into the reception area and brought the vehicle to a halt beneath the cement columns and overhang. International flags draped above, swaying softly in the doldrums of night air. As everything in Downtown, this place existed for the affluent. Tall glass doors gave way to a lavish interior where pristinely kept greenery and furnishings awaited. Part of me discarded the attempts at extravagance as pompous representation and overpriced kitsch, another part was fascinated and eager to participate in the upper class lifestyle if only for one night. I may not have wanted to join in that lifestyle, but I never minded the proximity to it. Part of that logic was why I decided to become a driver.
The badger and I stepped out of the vehicle, heavy doors clanging as they swung shut.  

We stood side by side in front of the doorway that was larger than us both. Two uniformed canine bell-hops quickly came padding our way followed by a large ursine receptionist who politely greeted us and apparently knew Van Claude by name. I noticed the bear staring at me long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I gazed down at myself, trying to palm flat the wrinkles of my clothes. I was in uniform and that was obvious to everyone around. I hoped it would not look too obvious, but in discerning company here it would surely be noticed. I was sure I would be confused for as the help at some point in the evening. The uniform did not differ too much from formal dress, the additional row of buttons and the high neckline was a giveaway to anyone versed in the art of dress. I seldom wore the matching gloves and hat, except when “on parade” at pick-ups or when guests where in the vehicle. I detested the gloves and usually kept them hidden.   

Van Claude shook hands with the Bear, covertly handing him a bank note of some unknown denomination, a large one no doubt. The badger then looked at me, implying I hand over the keys to the Mercedes. I was usually the one to park the limo, rendering the services of the valet unnecessary. Since I was “off duty” that task would go to one of the canines. I never liked to allow others to drive the Mercedes and only reluctantly handed the bear the keys. The ursine beamed a toothy smile and turned to bark orders in another language. Van Claude pulled on my wrist, directing me into the lobby of the hotel. 

I followed the badger into the atrium of the hotel. The inner space looked vast and cavernous as is often the case with luxury super-hotels. Various foci lay ahead and around us seemingly intended to add personality to the space, or perhaps facilitate communication between patrons if not extract currency from them in exchange for overpriced goods and services. Congregations of chairs and ornate furniture, man sized vases, super-sized sculptures, kiosks and vendors and other such abstraction stood strewn about insignificant in the ceilingless expanse. 

I assumed by the architecture and the diversity of the ornamentation that the hotel must have stood for forty years or so. It seemed to have succumbed to the same ailment afflicting the majority of Southern Californian prosperity. It was ripe with decay, not physical deterioration but rather the more sinister decomposition of indecision. The avenue must have been redecorated at least every five years in pursuit of the height of coolness, appealing to the wealthy of the mountains, the business elite, and the middle class entrepreneurs’ conventioning in downtown. The result was a peculiar layering, as if with each renovation certain items were forgotten, abandoned in the vastness. Mid-century, mission style, desert revival, several rendition of 80s hip and 90s austerity cohabitated awkwardly in the interior space as if a time capsule or museum for obsolescent tastes. I could not exactly place what mode of fashion the designers currently went after, every time I identified a contemporary furnishing I was distracted by a peculiar counterpart. Perhaps the interior designers had given up in chasing the new, or perhaps realized the impossibility of such and gone on to curate the sordid collection of utilized artifacts. The badger did not seem to notice.

I walked briskly on the badger left and about one step behind. I followed him through the atrium and the peculiar museum of furniture and lobby “art” to the immense shaft of elevators on the south wall. In fact two such columns of equal in size adjacent to one another about forty-three yards apart stood like gateway monoliths at the mouth of the atrium. The badger then halted and spoke to me, fumbling through his pockets as he told me. “Here, go to the nineteenth floor while I take care of some business. Take these and make sure they give me my spot. I’ll meet you up there as soon as I can.” He smile and put a suggestive accent on the word “business” to which I beamed a famous foxy smile. The badger handed me two objects; a matchbook for an establishment called Perdido Cosas which apparently was the bar or lounge mentioned earlier, and a business card with Van Claude’s name and office printed on it in elegant embossed lettering and a blue satin finish. The badger proceeded to tell me “Show them this, they will know,” and turned away toward the reception area. 

I took notice of the remarkable lack of signage as if very corner and turn were an initiated secret. The badger knew through instinct or experience where the reception area stood. Most likely I would have wandered for the better part of an hour in search of the same. I wondered as I waited for the elevator if this lack of signage existed as an oversight or by design. Perhaps it was the hotels intent to debase its patrons so as to have them lost and dependant on the benevolence of its staff. The building was like any Los Angelino; sadistic, schizophrenic and vacant inside. 

The elevator came quick. I watched floors pass by, lights reflect off the glass in luminescent trails, and the atrium floor grow distant as if in an instant. My stomach shifted in the rapid elevator accent and I thought about the badger’s subtle suggestive accentuation of the word business. I thought about the events hours earlier, the apprehension and unease, the awkward silences turned into the shedding of clothing and the inappeasable thrusts of intercourse upon the Danish sofa in the office of Van Claude. Perhaps the gravitic shift of deceleration or perhaps a sentimental flourish of memory caused a brief moment of lightheadedness and brought forth a latent reminder of the experience with the badger as evidenced by the quantity of the badgers seed still lodged within me. I was hopeful now that the evening would progress favorably. I couldn’t deny I wanted more of what I experienced and optimistic that I would not be disappointed.

Perdidos Cosas looked like a strange sort of establishment. It comprised the entirety of the nineteenth floor of the Bonaventure, perched atop a rotating platform beneath a saucer like rotunda reminiscent of camp 1950s pulp science fiction or low budget heroic escapades long since relegated to middle of the night reruns on forgotten channels. Whatever extraterrestrials had built this place apparently lacked in taste or were ignorant of the better parts of earth culture. In the middle of the rotating platform stood a static island that housed the bar, above the bar was a wrap around banner mural depicting early Los Angeles in all its bucolic long since mythic glory. A mission, a general store, an orange grove and a distant thunderstorm threatening to deluge upon the native population stood ominously yet static upon the landscape. The rest of the interior seemed some sort of mission style revival, leather and wood framework and the rustic feel of the nearby Olvera Street; or rather what the designers of this place thought Olvera Street should feel like transported here. Anachronistic fixtures of chrome and black leather adding, or intending to add an element of contemporary style to the otherwise rustic attempt at décor accentuated the interior.

I approached the greeter who stood behind a broad podium. A coyote, apparently my age or a year or two younger and quite attractive smiled at me amiably, perhaps with a bit more intent than mere professional politeness. The coyote asked inquisitively “Here all by yourself?” as I approached, to which I replied “No, I’m here with another. Do you have a table for two open?” The place was indeed quite full on this Friday night. It was the height of the evening and all sorts of high-end alcoholics, businessmen off a long work week wishing to postpone the inevitable return to marital bliss, and stranded stewardesses filled the rotating venue. The attractive coyote appeared disappointed for a moment and then squinted at the computer screen before him. “Hmm” he mused “we might have a table open near the bar if that’s alright.” I remembered the card the badger had given me, retrieved it and handed it to the Coyote explaining that I was here with a Mr. Van Claude. “Wow,” the coyote exclaimed “That changes everything”. “Lucky you,” he smiled “I’ll put a call through and straighten everything out”. Within a few minutes the Coyote escorted me through the loud establishment, onto the creeping ring of the rotating platform, to the large glass windows that gave a redeemingly impressive view of the city. “How do you know Mr. Van Claude?” asked the Coyote, apparently making small talk.
“I’m his Chauffer, I’ve been driving him for about half a year or so,” I replied.
“Impressive, I’ll bet you’re a real insider! Any tips?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Van Claude usually keep to himself.”
“That he does.”
“Do you know much about him?” I asked.
“Only that he is a great tipper. Oh, and that he usually drinks a gin martini or Scotch on the rocks occasionally neat if the good stuff is in.”
“Does he come here often?”
“Not for a while actually. You would know better where he is filling his flask than I.”
“He has been out of town a lot recently,” I replied.
“Figures,” he jested. “What brings you both here tonight?”
 “Just the drinks and the view,” I smiled, attempting to content the coyote with a half truth.
“I see.” The coyote smirked, obviously mentally filling in the blanks or so I thought. “I’ll go ahead and bring him a gin martini, he usually starts with that.” 
I ordered a rum and coke, suddenly feeling a bit exposed. 
“Right away. Oh and by the way my name is Antonio.”
“I’m Don, Donovan Blair. It’s good to meet you to.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Smiled the coyote. “Listen now, have fun you two.”
It didn’t feel like very long before the badger arrived, at least the moving platform only budged a few inches.  He waded through the dense restaurant swiftly and elegantly, not disturbing a single table. Shortly after he sat down our first drinks arrived. Our coyote returned to the podium at the entrance which had since shifted out of view, our new waiter or waitress as it were was a slender doe named Leela. The drinks where sound enough. Our table stood right against the tall glass window, the table seemed large enough to fit four. It was obvious that it had been hastily moved into place to accommodate us. The people at the neighboring tables occasionally cast judging glances at us to which I tried not to react. We currently faced south to southwest; the vast expanse of flatland seemed to stretch into infinity, contiguous if not bisected by freeways and the golden and blood red lace of traffic.
“I see you met Antonio,” mentioned the badger somewhat amused.
I smiled and nodded. “Seems like a nice coyote.”
“He is a lot like you in many ways. You don’t run a place like this without getting an inside view of the business.” 
“This is his restaurant?“ I asked.
“Not quite, but he co-manages it. I’ve known him for a few years now. He is young but a good source of advice. He is a math and econ grad out of UCLA. That’s all I really know about him though.”
I nodded, a bit surprised and impressed. 
“I often come here to think.” He continued “It’s been a while since I came here last, but kitch aside, it’s a nice place. That and no one I know or work with ever comes here. They gravitate to different watering holes, usually in Beverly Hills. This place is off the beaten path for them. I appreciate that.”
The platform had turned due south now. Past the freeway I could identify the Shrine Auditorium off in the distance, behind which I lived for several years. Being a sketchy part of town I was glad to move out. I mentioned this to Van Claude who chuckled.
“That’s around where I lived, horrible neighborhood. I was there way back when, things where worse there. I barely survived the king riots.” He shook his head. “Don’t forget I’m USC too.” He smiled.
“I didn’t know you went to USC,” I said, genuinely surprised. 
“Class of 91,” He replied.
“Holy hell.”
“That’s right.”
 The badger and I looked into the distance. He continued “Back then we were all under police guard. Classes were canceled, food was brought to us, and we were not allowed to go outdoors. It was a frightening experience.” The platform continued to turn as he talked and started pointing us eastward toward a rise of shallow hills, the L.A. River, train yard, and the vast warehouse district. “Believe it or not, back then I worked as a waiter bussing tables. Not here, but at another restaurant here in downtown, an intercontinental Greek place. I lost my job then because I couldn’t come to work.” He laughed, “try coming to work when there’s a line of cops at the door and the neighborhood is on fire. But let’s change the subject.” 

I listened carefully, amused. This was the most I ever heard the badger talk at once. It was interesting and disconcerting to hear him speak so vividly of events that took place when I was just a cub. The badger quickly finished his drinks, signaling the doe over to us. He asked about the Scotch selection and seemed pleased about the choices. He ordered us both a round and I heard the word “neat”. We faced downtown by the time the drinks arrived. The tall skyscrapers began to fill the window as we talked single lights and whole floors illuminated on the otherwise gray-black structures far taller than the comparatively dwarfed hotel. The badger asked about my experience at the university. He reminisced along with my stories, chiming in with similar experiences, retelling a frat prank or humorous anecdote. He also asked why I had not sought employment and become a professional driver. I explained my experience and reasoning to which he nodded.

“You know, I kind of envy you,” he said softly. “I have had quite a few experiences that made me want…” he paused. “Made me want to capitulate, or just get out.” The badger stared out the window, gazing stoically into the immense canyons of downtown and at the gray towers that filled our view. “I’m too deep in for that now.” He spoke wistfully. “There is no going back.”

I wanted to speak and reassure him. I genuinely wanted to encourage him that it was not too late and promise him all would be well if he left now, while he could. However, I know that would be a lie, I could promise no such thing. He then asked me, “when do you plan on getting back to work?” I gazed at him a bit perplexed and realized what he meant. He did not perceive my current line of work as a valid job and expected me to return to a respectable job eventually. I sighed with disappointment. I realized the badger thought very much like Sebastian, and as with Sebastian I ignored my better judgment and became determined that the badger could be saved if only I persisted. 

“I have contacts you know, all across the valley. I can make sure you’re hired,” said the badger.
All I could reply is, “thanks for the offer, I’ll sleep on it.” To which the badger nodded. 

We faced north toward Angelino Heights and the Echo Park hills by the time our third round of drinks had come around. I began to feel the buzz of the alcohol. It was a welcome sensation in light of the on and off serious conversation with the badger. Perhaps due to the alcohol I began to feel more at ease around him and noticed that he too was becoming more loquacious. He began telling stories about his youth, his time at USC, and went on to describe significant events including his dealings with celebrities. Most amusing was his retelling of office gossip which included the rather sordid stories of his colleagues, the nights spent carousing around L.A. and events of ill repute that ended up in arrest and out of court settlement. 

I retold some significant stories as well such as anecdotes involving Sebastian, though I omitted the details of our eventual break up. He seemed nonetheless responsive and genuinely interested. After or around our fifth drink, when the restaurant platform had turned back westward with view of the Hollywood sign and the Hollywood hills which stretched far into the distance, I decided to ask him something personal that burned on my mind.

“So how long have you liked guys?” I said, carefully monitoring my speech trying not to give away my level of intoxication.

“So are we at that part of the conversation?” he questioned back, obviously less buzzed than I. He flagged the waitress for another round and then stared at me with a matter of fact glance. I could tell by the haze in his eyes that he was in fact affected by the alcohol even if less than I.
“I was younger than you are now when I first became honest with myself about… that.” He spoke pensively. I could tell that this was a confessional moment for him. Perhaps I was the first person he was revealing these thoughts too and he first had to formulate them adequately.
“I never acted on it though, not until the other day at least.” He smiled. “That was twenty years of pent up frustration. Add a sexy fox to that and well, you saw what happened.”
I smiled back, honestly flattered. “Ever crushed before?” I asked.
“You bet,” he chuckled loudly. 

The waitress came around again in the moment just before he opened his mouth to list off his previous interests. He hushed up instinctively and waited for the doe to leave. This time, she brought two old fashioneds and told us that last call would be in a half hour. We both noticed that the patronage at the establishment had thinned and the atmosphere had now become less noisy.  

The badger continued, this time speaking a bit quieter. “Well first there was my roommate in college, he was a tiger and on the basketball team. He was our shooting guard and a very talented one at that. In fact I think he made it onto the Clippers. We got along really well and I count him as one of my best friends in my frat. Being used to the locker room I assumed he was used to being naked around other men. He used to come in, strip and change right in front of me. I think that’s when it clicked in my head.” The badger smiled softly and looked down into his half empty glass. “That’s when I realized that I like that sort of thing. Rather, when I found myself fantasizing about him when he wasn’t around.”

The badger went into peculiarly elaborate detail about his fascination with his former roommate the tiger. He retold detailed, almost scientific observations of the tiger’s physique, pausing for what seemed like minutes to describe his maleness for which I believed the badger had a particular interest. The restaurant had turned now facing southwest, close to the point where we began. I tapped the badger on his paw as the waitress came around again. He immediately paused and glanced about as if with an element of paranoia. She informed us of the last call and if there were any last orders. I ordered a final rum and coke while Van Claude apparently in it for the long haul, ordered a Tequila Zombie. The waitress and I blinked at him, but he seemed resolute in his decision. Neither of us questioned him.
The badger continued to talk as we waited for, and inevitably received our last drinks. The establishment began to empty out as he spoke. “There were a few others,” he said, clarifying, “just crushes.”  “There was a co-worker here, a bell-hop there. They were rather insignificant crushes really. I had a close call once, but it never quite happened.” 

“With who?” I asked.
The badger pointed at the coyote who had moved from the podium to behind the bar lending a hand with clean up. 
“Antonio?” I asked surprised.
The badger nodded. “The opportunity just never truly arose. That and there were still reservations to overcome,” he smiled. “Well, then you came a long, and the rest is history.”
I smiled softly, flattered at the statement and proud that the badger had chosen me, or I him. I had never been with someone for whom I was their first. I went pensive for a moment and then looked up at him and his expectant smile. “There is still a lot more history to write.” I beamed.
“Indeed there is.”

As we finished our drinks the restaurant turned full circle. We where now facing south to southwest towards the vast blanket of southern L.A. and the pillars of downtown. The badger informed me that the rotation followed a three hour cycle and at least that much time had passed since we arrived. My watch read at least three-thirty in the morning, though my vision blurred the exact time. The badger handled the check. He must have been just as intoxicated as I, but I was impressed with the finesse with which he signed the bill. I couldn’t read the sum total. I assumed it was steep. Before we could stumble out of the restaurant, the coyote came to bid us farewell. He shook the badgers paw and thanked him profusely. His sendoff with me felt equally profuse. I even got a brief hug. The coyote handed me something that I immediately pocketed. I only realized days later when doing laundry, that it was a matchbook from the Perdidos Cosas, in it stood a telephone number scrawled in perfectly legible black ink. 

Van Claude had booked us a room on the ninth floor. We drunkenly marched back to the elevator and could not resist a quick, and rather firm fondle of the front of each other’s pants as the door closed, ignoring the wide open glass expanse visible to the entire atrium. It relieved me that our previous intimacy had lifted barriers between us, filling the next few moments with a sequence of gestures, glances, and rituals that all pointed to and perhaps hastened something certain. It was a good feeling to engage freely in furtive gestures further fueled by inebriation. I pecked a kiss on his cheek before the doors opened. The room Van Claude had selected was a suite. He explained that it was not the biggest or most luxurious room in the hotel, but was the best available. I personally never stayed in a hotel room so large. It in fact had three rooms and a large central space, all located in the northwest tower of the Bonaventure with a view of all Silver Lake and one could even see the crest of Hollywood Hills with its skylights extinguished in the late of night.

The badger took off his coat and tie, hanging it in a closet by the door. “Make yourself at home.” He spoke, heading behind the counter in the kitchen area of the central room. I heard the pop of a cork and realized he had opened a bottle of champagne. I sat on the large white crescent shaped couch in the middle of the room. The room lay arranged according to the contemporary minimalist approach. As if stripped to its bare essentials, making it appear vaster and more spacious than its square footage allowed. Spindly furniture and small but bright light fixtures occupied the ample space dressed in shades of white and metallic grays. Reproduction futurist artwork and vivid photographs of cityscapes including prominent L.A. landmarks took up wall space. A rather large and heavy deconstructionist sculpture rising or rather erupting from the center of the room, consisting of various layers or block precariously placed upon or within one another as if an overenthusiastic cub had super-glued them together destabilized the minimalism of the room. 

As I sat and sank into the stiff cushions of the white crescent moon which may have been the sofa I watched the fragments of the sculpture disassemble themselves, revolving through the glass steel and ivory white shag carpeting of the hotel room. I entertained myself with the effects of intoxication and observed as reality suspended itself and merge within the surreal blur of drunkenness. I also recounted the series of unlikely events which brought me here. An element of wrongness which I selfishly ignored seemed to crawl through my thoughts like a malicious insect. I was robbing the badger from his wife, causing him to lie and fall into irreversible infidelity. We had passionately and delightfully transgressed an ultimate boundary and now looked back standing on the opposite shore shameless and eager to reengage in morally prohibited copulation. 

Perhaps the alcohol or the sheer act of already having trespassed each other’s boundaries abated much of my unease, or perhaps I wanted it to bad to stop.  We had migrated through the city to this secluded hotel room suspended above the roofs on the verge of nowhere over the urban expanse to relive that experience. What would come in due time would be consensual and inevitable. I could not predict the course of the immediate future though I felt certain I would be rewarded with what I longed for, monopolization of the badger and his physical attributes intertwined in ecstatic union until the flames of consciousness would give out. I tried to ignore the bulge in my pants that hadn’t fully waned since we left Van Claude’s office and now retained its undeniable throb. The badger soon came and sat beside me, bringing with him a flute of effervescent amber liquid.

I sipped the champagne not exactly needing additional alcohol in my body, more out of reverence to what was likely a rare vintage. The badger inched closer to me and threw his arm around the back of the couch behind me. He turned his profile toward me and spoke, “thank you for coming here with me. I had a great time with you tonight.” He leaned closer and I met his lips in a brief kiss. He smiled and turned his muzzle toward the curved window before us, at the panorama of high rise and hill. The reflection in his eye seemed clouded, perhaps as afflicted by the effects of alcohol as I felt. “It’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders,” he spoke.  I placed my paw upon his stomach and pressed my cheek upon his chest. I leaned into him, giving him a supportive squeeze. His paw moved to the back of my scalp. He held me several moments whispering, “such a long time that I’ve been making mistakes.”

I remained silent, simply holding the badger in a moment of quiet. A long held wish reached fulfilment as we kept each other in embrace. However, a quiet longing rose within me. The desire to feel his lips upon mine once again compelled me to rise up and kiss him. My muzzle tenderly met his with the soft brush of whiskers, fur and lips. We held each other in close proximity, perceptive of each other’s breathing and the palpitations of our hearts. With a flick of my tongue I brushed his lips, soon finding myself engaged once again lost in a deep kiss. The vapor of alcohol manifested itself within the kiss as a vague perceptible tickle within my sensitive nostrils.

The tender movement of our paws upon the features of our bodies gave character to our embrace. An unspoken need soon brought our paws into each other’s laps. The barrier that had once existed between us, as it exists between strangers during first time encounters, had been undone and no longer obstructed our intentions. The taboo was suspended, now we eagerly found our paws caressing the outlines of sheaths beneath our clothes. I felt the badger’s familiar shape as I allowed my paw to creep up his inner thigh with conspicuous haste. I cupped and massaged the growing arousal, feeling the features of his sheath shift and swell against the confining fabric. The badger’s touch felt equally effective. I spread my legs as his paw slid down my chest and belly, swiftly caressing the supple curves of my restrained maleness. My sheath twitched and my cock grew swiftly, almost instantly restrained by my clothing. I was eager as if the exhausting release hours earlier had been but an unfulfilled fantasy.  
The badgers other paw moved to my scalp, where he massaged my ears with the same erotic vigor he directed toward my sheath. Our tongues dashed through each other’s muzzles, across the increasingly familiar terrain of our mouths. I trembled as the badger held me, his touch upon my sensitive ears and even more sensitive sheath felt overwhelming. I shuddered with longing and felt the badger’s muscles tense as they had earlier. 

 Moments later the badger broke the kiss, sweeping his paw affectionately over my muzzle and scalp. “Such a good fox,” he smiled, “are we ready to move?” I nodded eagerly and mumbled something affirmative. The badger stood up, or attempted to stand. He slid his paws across my body and arms as if regretting even a brief separation. “Wait here,” he said as he go to his feet, he stumbled, caught himself and then meandered into the largest of the suite apartments. 

I leaned back into the couch as I waited. Resting and starring at the ceiling I confirmed that I was quite intoxicated by the way with which the texture spun. I felt quite hot and unbuttoned the top buttons of my shirt and tugged at my collar. My sheath painfully restrained by a layer of cloth bothered me, so I shifted and adjusted myself opening the front of my pants to make myself a little more comfortable. I felt the tip of my cock peak out of my sheath the moment I gave it the space to do so. 

“Playing with yourself without me?” The badger called out standing in the frame of the door to the large suite. He smiled amiably joking, or rather seriously implying. “Come over here so I can give you a hand with that.” He leaned against the door frame completely naked with arms folded across his chest. His sheath protruded from between his legs out of which pointed the venous pink tip of his arousal. ”Looks like you’re the one who needs a hand,” I smiled cautiously getting to my feet. I gestured with my muzzle and with the attention of my eyes to the badger’s prominent member. The pink of his cock stood out against the white fur of his torso. His neck, chest and belly all the way down to his crotch and the inner thighs were white. Black aside from a stripe of gray that ran down his back covered his arms, flanks, and legs. 

I felt overdressed and decided to strip out of my clothing as I slowly walked toward him, giving him a bit of a show as I did so. My shirt and undershirt landed on the couch, I spun presenting my tail which flicked upward and swayed implying loose morals. I bent over as I slid my pants down, raising my tail high to give him a good view of the curvature of my butt and tail-hole which he had so adeptly penetrated earlier. I heard him emit a churring sound which I decided was the badger’s tone of arousal.  I walked over to him and kissed him on the tip of the muzzle. My paw slyly caressed his sheath from his balls to the tip of exposed shaft, sliding my paw-pads across the exposed skin marked intent.   

In the same motion I walked past him into the bedroom suite. I froze suddenly, taken aback as I felt the badger grab hold of my tail stroking it with his paws from tip to tail-base. I knew it was strange to feel bothered by him touching my tail, when I had let him touch my bared tail-hole earlier to his heart’s content.  I had even let him penetrate me and fill me with his seed; nonetheless it was odd to have him fondle my tail. The tail is an important limb for a fox. It’s usually the last part I feel comfortable with letting other people touch. The badger with his short stubby tail probably had no such aversion. 
“Is everything alright?” he questioned. 

I nodded swiftly, “it’s alright,” beaming a smile back at him. We went this far already. I had shared so much of my body with him; I might as well share my tail.

I guided the badger who clung to my tail over to the broad king sized bed with taut sheets that occupied the center of the room. The bed shared a room with a large desk and office area, a sunken bathtub with water jets, a massive flat screen television perched atop a credenza and a continuation of the large glass window from the central room. There were also two additional rooms connected to this one, a walk in closet and bathroom the size of a hotel room the like of which I was used to staying in. 

I slyly slipped from the badger’s grasp and pounced upon the large bed. I turned and lay on my back with my knees spread apart in a bid to appear sexy. My sheath and now nearly erect manhood stood exposed for the badger’s amusement. Judging by the badger’s repeated churring sound I deduced that my attempts to be provocative had thus far been successful. 

The badger stood at the foot of the bed, visually admiring my naked frame. The stark white of my body contrasted against the earthen brown of the soft comforter of some unknown and no doubt exquisite fabric. As I expected my pink cock became the focal point of the badger’s attention. Before he joined me upon the large bed he smiled jokingly, “I have a present for you.” “Oh?” I exclaimed with my curiosity among various body parts perked. The badger simply smiled and tossed an object onto the bed beside me which bounced upon the taut sheets. I picked it up and identified it as a tube of sexual lubricant. I grinned, “how thoughtful, you’re really going to give me a pounding with this I bet.” He smiled back with genuine affection, “I just thought you would be more comfortable with this. I picked it up in the gift shop down in the lobby after checking in.” “Thanks, it certainly makes things smoother,” I replied. 

The badger climbed up onto the foot of the bed. I scooted backward to give him some more room. He moved forward with me and kneeled between my knees. He towered up above me as I lay back, gazing up at him. He was large enough to be imposing; however I found his stature delightful. His paws rested on my knees pulling them apart even further. I bucked my hips at him thrusting my now erect fox-hood at him. He emitted his now familiar churring and allowed a paw to glide down my inner thigh. His broad paw soon caressed over my exposed cock, carefully palming over the tender flesh. He cupped my fuzzy balls and sheath then moved to stroke my pink pointed shaft. His paw-pads clasped my length in resolute hold that slid down stroking my smooth member. 

Faint scents of cum and arousal wafted about from our previous encounter. I had not had an opportunity to tidy up, but fortunately no obvious evidence of our previous union persisted aside from the scents and a few tufts of matted belly-fur. The badger gazed down lustfully at my cock which slid through his paw as if he was inspecting me. I watched as well, gazing down my torso watching as my cock-tip disappeared into his paw only to dart back out every instant. I saw the badger’s erect maleness and balls dangled stiffly between his legs. I privately lusted over his parts the same way he engaged in mine. 

I gasped and shuddered as Van Claude, engrossed in his actions, stroked my stiff maleness. I bucked and felt my cock spasm and quickly the first drops of pre began to seep from its slit. The warm fluid lubricated the badger’s movements, making them all the more pleasant. I closed my eyes and fell back into the sheets, writhing pleasantly under the deft motions. 

No sooner had I shut my eyes than I felt a peculiar yet pleasantly distinct warm and wet sensation envelop my erect fox-hood. I opened my eyes, surprised to find the badger’s muzzle between my thighs enveloping the entire length of my cock down to the swelling knot. I shuddered with delight and instinctively bucked my hips upward, thrusting my entire length past his lips. I accidently disregarded that this was apparently the first time the badger had ever had a cock in his mouth and was momentarily remorseful that I had forced myself into him so hard. He handled it quite well and merely huffed, not missing a stroke. I eagerly watched as his head bobbed up and down into my lap, the twin black stripes of fur that ran over his ears, forehead and muzzle touched the white fur of my belly as he buried his nose there with every motion. His paw clasped my growing knot, massaging it and the sensitive base of my cock behind it. 

Several delightful moments later he pulled his head back, leaving the slickened shaft of my cock exposed. He smiled up at my face with a hint of otherwise fox like slyness he perhaps had learned from me, dampening his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Just returning the favor for you. Lay back and enjoy.” I asked, “you sure you’ve never done this before?” He merely beamed another fox-like smile and stroked my slick cock a few more times, in so milking a few more drops of my pre. Before he could answer, my oozing cock disappeared back into his muzzle.

The badger either knew what to do or compensated very effectively for his inexperience with effort. The result felt undeniable. I greatly enjoyed being the focus of attention. Like sex in general, it had been a long time since I had felt all these sensations until this night. The badger moved quickly, sliding deftly up and down my shaft. I felt his tongue slide along the underside of my cock, cradling it effectively in his muzzle and shielding it from his fangs. Van Claude would occasionally turn his focus to my cock tip and its pronounced ridges and pointed tip. His tongue would glide over the sensitive flesh causing my whole body to tense and shudder.   

I reached out, cautiously at first, unsure of the badgers reaction. I brushed my paw across his scalp and the round, white tipped outline of his ears as his head bobbed up and down into my lap. I was fascinated by the distinct outline of his stripes which passed over his head and down his neck. The badger seemed to enjoy the gentle caresses as he moaned softly in response to my touch. I joined him in a soft moan a moment later, as his tongue once again swirled across the tip of my cock. 

My body twisted and my hips shifted beneath the badger, unsure if I was being teased or toyed with, yet enjoying the total bliss of the moment. I angled myself beneath Van Claude to best catch the badger’s soft tongue or the moist warm depths of his muzzle.  My cock pulsed frequently, signs that my climax approached. Van Claude held my knot which at that point had become fully engorged. He would squeeze and tug on the bulbous shape, giving that part of me more attention than I could handle. He may have never actually seen or held a canine knot before, let alone had one inside of him. It must have been a great treat for him as he hadn’t let it go since it exited my sheath. I knew how much I could pre, apparently the quantity that must have swallowed didn’t discourage him.

I contemplated warning him of my impending climax. I had no idea of what his plans for me were. I wanted him to top me again. To bend me over and mate with me like he had hours earlier and deposit within me a second, or even third sample of his seed. I was unsure if he wanted to taste me, or have me cum into his muzzle. I personally would never expect a first timer to want to swallow and resolved to warn him, though a substantial part of me, the selfish part wanted to surprise the badger and have him swallow my cum like it or not. One thing was certain, I was thinking too much.

As I lay against the sheets, the unrelenting tongue of the badger had found my sweet spot. His paw held and squeezed my knot, stroking it in time with the motions of his muzzle. My body buckled forward, and pleasure began to emanate through and around my entire maleness. I panted, “Henrik, I’m coming,” to which I expected the badger to pull off, but to my surprise he did not. I felt my seed began to flow as my climax set into motion. I tried to hold on, to give the badger the chance to rethink what he was doing, to hold onto the fluids he was not willing to receive, but he kept his muzzle wrapped around my cock sucking all the more urgently. I couldn’t hold back any longer and came, releasing myself past his lips. I gasped and panted, leaning forward as cum filled the badger’s muzzle.

I trembled for several long and intense seconds as my climax peaked and waned, keeping my eyes on the badger, apprehensively awaiting a reaction of displeasure. Yet he kept his muzzle around me, patiently taking in every drop as it jetted from my shaft. Only moments later, well after the last throng of climax did he pull back and return to the towering position above me. I smiled slyly back up at him. 
“How was it?” I asked intrigued. “No comment,” he spoke plainly. “I understand, it’s… different. You did great though.”  I reached out and rubbed his belly-fur. I noticed his cock was still, and not surprisingly, erect and wet with a long trail of pre. Without asking for permission I allowed myself to stroke the large member, slickening it with its own fluid. My cock had fallen slightly limp upon my belly, but my libido far from satiated. The perceptible aroma of male musk already filled the large room and I could not ignore its effect on me. I stroked Van Claude’s maleness with both my paws, feeling its familiar girth and ridges glide through my paw-pads. I tried to imitate the tug and pull of its features against the deep and tender walls of my passage with my paw-pads, more to jog my own memory than entice the badger’s recollection. Either way, it seemed to please him, as he soon thrust into my paws, dampening them with his musky badger pre.

“So I guess we are even now.” He smiled licking his lips suggestively. I angled his cock toward my muzzle and even allowed my whiskers to touch the bared flesh teasingly. “It’s not really about being even.” The badger nodded compliantly. “Besides,” I continued half in jest, “I have one more favor to ask of you.” The badger beamed a crooked smirk and readjusted himself, “oh, how can I help my foxie?”

I wordlessly reached for the bottle of lube and opened it cautiously. I didn’t recognize the brand, but it would suffice, I assumed. I poured an ample amount on the paw-pad of my index finger and brought it down just above my tail. I found the bare furless region and slathered the cool, slick fluid against my warm opening. The badger watched intently as I tended to my intimate region, preparing myself for the obvious. My tail-hole didn’t feel that sore from earlier, though it certainly felt used. That was in fact a very pleasant feeling. It took a few more moments to ready myself as I occasionally brought more fluid to my tail-hole, making sure I was nice and ready. The remainder on my paws lubricated the badger’s cock, which should have been slick enough through his own pre.  

I whispered, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” as I tugged on the badger’s now very slippery member. Indeed he did. He inched closer between my legs and gently pushed against my shoulder. I lay back against the bed and rested on my back with only my knees up. Van Claude positioned himself between them. He glanced down at the furless patch that he had penetrated earlier and my tail-base which twitched behind it. He took the opportunity to tease my tender tail-hole. His soft leathery paw-pad caressed the supple wrinkles of my opening. I shivered under the light touch. The shameless badger who thought nothing of grabbing my tail now played with my tail-hole. To think this was only a first date. I felt ashamed, and then realized my cock was once again painfully erect. That realization did not help matters, but by then retreat wasn’t really being considered.

The badger pulled my legs apart further then shifted my hips. He pulled himself close and brought the tip of his badger cock to my furless tail-hole. I gave in to the mounting anticipation, reached out to the badgers flank and tugged on his hip, indicating my readiness. In that moment I felt the badgers warm cock-tip find my opening and with measured thrusts it pushed its way back in. I gritted my teeth and gasped as my tail-hole spread once again to permit union. Despite the lubricant and the marked ease with which the badger entered me this time, the sensation felt no less intense. I found that the first moments of any union are often too intense to bear. Though as with any union the intensity quickly gave way pleasure and I found myself tugging on his hips with renewed encouragement. 

The badger acknowledged my guidance by hilting me in a long slow movement. I gasped as his cock pushed deep into me, seemingly deeper than before, past where he previously left his seed. I felt my interior walls part and give way to Van Claude’s warm, smooth shaft. I heard the badger moan and emit his iconic churr as he hilted himself. Instead of pulling back he merely kept pushing, grinding his soft furry sheath against the taught skin of my tail-hole. His intense bucks lifted my hips off the sheets. The badger’s upper body came crashing down on top of me. He braced himself inches above me, locked at the hips in union. 

He gazed firmly at my face, into my eyes. His features bore the subtle haze of intoxication, but beneath appeared a gentle demeanor. I was neither scared nor intimidated with what I saw within him. It remained unclear what the future or the next days would bring, and this fact gnawed at my soul like a disease. Here and now, and in the coming moments, one thing remained obvious. We worked toward a common goal, our mutual satisfaction and the intimacy we both so craved in life. 

The badger’s lips met mine in a soft kiss for which he paused his movements to facilitate. Our whiskers brushed one another and mingled intertwined for the duration of the tender moment. His tongue reentered my muzzle with a delicate flick and brushed over the tips of my fangs and against the cornered surface of my own. Hot exhalation enveloped us both and augmented the radiant heat of bodies in motion. My paw-pads reached up to caress the bared black fur of the badger’s flanks and urged the progress of our union. My body presented to him in his able paws, offered up in trust and transparency.

A firm thrust of the badger’s hips set us in motion. Van Claude refused to withdraw his more than ample shaft. He instead kept pushing against my hips as if trying to reach hitherto unreached regions of my body, mimicking the bucking motion of tied canines. The badger’s sheath bunched itself up against my tail-hole as the ridges of his tip spread apart my insides, lubricating me from within. I could not help but gasp softly, exhaling warm breath against the badger’s cheek. My body tensed and writhed as he so thoroughly explored me.  

My own cock pulsed tellingly. It had already recovered and once again begged for attention and subsequent release. I saw a thread of pre linking the tip of my cock to my belly-fur. It would take a while for it to see any attention. It was the badger’s turn now. I felt his shaft twitch within me, seeping additional pre into my body. I relished the sensation.  My ball-sack was pressed up against the badger’s belly, wedged there between us amidst the soft fur.

It was several moments later when the badger changed his movement. He shifted from the grinding and deep penetration of my passage, to traditional thrusting which came as somewhat a relief, if only momentarily. His shaft withdrew and was slammed back in its rightful place with marked force. I grunted softly each time he re-hilted me. The badger would kiss and apply small and tender licks to my face and muzzle. He braced himself on one paw, so that he could caress and massage my ears, which by now he could perceive I enjoyed. 

His paw would occasionally reach for my slick shaft which pulsed stiffly between us. The slightest touch felt as if it would bring me over the edge, but I knew the badger wouldn’t let me. He would tease me just enough then resign his paw. I would cling to his flanks, gliding my paws up and down his sides feeling the taught muscles flex with his every thrust. I even allowed myself to hold onto his butt-cheeks and kneed them encouragingly. My foot-paws dangled in the air behind him. I tried to use them to hold him against me and use them to communicate “harder” and “deeper” if that were at all possible. 

The badger kissed me once more, however briefly, then leaned back to rest upon his knees He smiled at me warmly, and then peered down to gaze at my throbbing erection which bobbed above my stomach, glistening with pre, shifting his glance at the site of penetration beneath my furry sack. His thrusting slowed and his movements became more relaxed and attentive. The badger grabbed my legs by the ankles and spread them apart. I propped up my hips to better facilitate the angle he was going after. I noticed his downward stare apparently admiring the sight of his girth slide in and out of my poor tail-ring with due fascination. He bucked slowly watching his length disappear into my taught opening until his sheath-fur bunched at the entrance. I realized the badger inspected me, observing the very intimate part of my body violated. I offered control over my most personal regions and he used that control adeptly and skillfully. He witnessed that control manifest itself in the form of dominant breeding and I hope it pleased him. I realized this was an educational experience for him, as if I had given my body to science to be probed and explored and for its boundaries and limits to be tested in pursuit of mutual bliss. I felt myself blush in the delightful shame, the best kind of exposure one could hope to achive. I closed my eyes and covered my face with my forearm. The badger responded by rubbing my matted belly-fur. I sighed with joy.

Van Claude kept my legs spread apart, holding them firmly by the ankles. He thrust into me with long deep movements. I had to brace myself and cling to the sheets to avoid being pushed across the bed with every thrust. He gazed down my slender body which lay naked and uncovered. I supposed he could see me through the blur of alcohol and watch my body writhe and slightly parted lips subtly trembling, venting both exhalation and the guttural utterances of coitus. In all truth I enjoyed that gaze. It implied that I became the sole object of his desire. I would remain obedient, flexing my body and tense every muscle to help him along, craving the flood of cum that would become my reward.

The badger eventually let go of my legs, which slid back behind him. He gave my leaking fox cock a few more strokes before settling in back on top of me, kissing my nose, whiskers and chin as he descended. His paw rested on my shoulder as if to keep me in place, tugging me into him as his movements continued. The badger’s bucking resumed in earnest as he settled in above me in an ideal position for him to thrust. I felt the girth of his shaft and the ridges of his cock-tip spread apart my insides with every thrust, flooding my body with the unique essence of badger pre. 

The sensation of fullness felt immense. The well-endowed badger stuffed me to the limits of what I could handle. I could feel his shaft ride along tantalizingly close to my prostate. I felt the satisfying ache of submission which drew toward my rock-hard fox-hood that throbbed between us as if begging for the tactile stimulation that would bring it to climax. The badger apparently had other things in mind. He ignored the glistening dark pink flesh of my fox-cock and the pre that emanated from its tip. Instead he appeared concentrated on his own pleasure. I could not hold this against him. In consolation the badger nuzzled me, burying his nose in the fluffy fur of my chest and kisses his way up my neck. He did so skillfully, and with such tenderness and euphoria that it transcended the most visceral stimulation of genital contact.

I caressed his flanks and touched the badger’s muscular butt-cheeks urging him on. His hips gyrated more and more erratically as he shifted from slower to quicker, to longer and deeper movements. Though my nerves where slightly numbed from intoxication I could barely handle the intense pressure and sensation the badger steadily provided me with. I needed to get filled again, bred by my dominant bed-mate. Yet Van Claude took his time, either dulled as I by alcohol or lost in the curious amusement, a singular event he wanted to draw out. He remained braced above me, his muzzle touching and kissing the fur of my upper body with his large paws planted firmly in the sheets on either side of me with fingers curled, burying into the fabric. I correctly presumed that his ebony claws had pierced the cloth.
His affection seemed to wane as time progressed. Eager and more frantic thrusts with no steady rhythm found their way home. The push and pull of lubricated skin gave way to the complex sensations of union. My tail-hole felt warm with friction, its muscles wirily flexed and contracted in an all-out effort to please my partner, who offered panting and huffs in reply. I tugged at the badger with arms, legs and tail-ring urging him on toward his imminent climax.

His movements slowed to long, deep thrusts hilting me so furiously that his sheath and furred ball-sack slapped against the base of my tail. The ridged tip of his maleness found places so deep I winced with newfound fullness. I gasped with each rough movement until finally after the most ferocious thrust he ceased, coming into me. The badger hilted me one final time and forced his cock-tip as far into my bowels as he could. His sheath and ball-sack pressed trapped just outside my trembling tail-ring. All movement stopped save for the telling throb of Van Claude’s cock. I inhaled sharply and subsequently exhaled a lusty content sigh as my passage warmed as it filled white viscous badger-cum.

Van Claude trembled above me as his climax passed through him. He instinctively bucked once or twice more before he spent his last droplets, fully transferring his rare male essence into the intimate regions of his willing fox. After a long blissful moment he collapsed upon me, panting heavily into my neck-fur. I too breathed deeply, exerted by the long period of overstimulation. I trembled slightly not merely from the cool air, but from such intense experience.

I brought my paws to the badgers shoulder and the back of his neck where his iconic stripes dissipated into gray fur. I caressed him tenderly with affection and reassurance. The badger had done well. I could not have ever asked for a more memorable, more pleasurable union. His warm, heavy body rested easily atop mine radiating sultry hotness through me. He brought a paw to my scalp and caressed my pointed ears and over my cheek. I gave him a soft kiss atop his muzzle as he rested. His maleness remained in me, leaking its essence as his arousal diminished. Several minutes passed before the slick shaft slipped from within me, leaving me aching, longing and tarnished.

The badger rolled over beside me, resting on his side facing me. I lay on my back and sighed, sore yet contented. Only my arousal belied my satisfaction which still protruded at full length from my sheath. I ignored it for the moment. I moved to kiss the badger on the lips, he happily engaged. I allowed my paw to caress the badgers face, from his interesting facial stripes, over his cute rounded ears and the short whiskers of his muzzle. The badger’s paw rested on my narrow flank, slowly brushing flat the soft white fur. 

We spoke no words. No need for language existed. The nature of our touch and the subtle movement of our paws and paw-pads, the complex combination of scents and the musk of arousal lingered in the room, palpably perceptible in our powerful nostrils. The scents expressed ample communication, saying all that needed to be said. All questions and needs seemed addressed in that moment. The pale blue-gray light of dawn began to illuminate the room. A marine layer had crept in in the early hours of the morning, as it so hastily does in the L.A. basin in August. The tower of the Bonaventure became shrouded over and the city beyond our window obscured. We lay in afterglow content with the gentlest of touch and the most timid of kisses, illuminated by the monochromatic glow of morning.    

The Telephone Booth – Part 1 © Rufus Quentin