The Telephone Booth
Part IV
By: Rufus Quentin
A matrix of tiny water droplets suspended in cool air trapped beneath the oppressive mass of summer heat precedes the presence of a temperature inversion. Far out, miles off the coast and far away from the refineries, polished ochre beaches, and vacant piers it forms. On some summer nights from May to September a cold creeps in that defies the stagnant heat. It arrives first as a merciful breeze through the rays of baking yellow late afternoon sunlight but only grows stronger and harsher. When the sun finally sets in a flash of green on the ocean horizon an intense chill sets in that leaves scantily clad beach dwellers wishing for winter coats they thought they had no reason to possess. Subsequently the cold chases them indoors and into tropical themed coastal entertainment venues beneath tall mushroom-like propane space heaters and ornamental torches providing an inland island of intimate warmth. Unobserved on the ocean horizon beneath the multi-chromatic ribbons of summer evening sunset, a mass of clouds rises from the waves as if a lost continent silently heaved itself from its sunken resting place. A vast ribbon of backlit grey stretching the horizon appears consisting of ominous citadels of intangible substance lingering, imperceptibly approaching.
It’s encroach is invisible to the impatient, it only makes itself evident over the course of hours. Soon a vast wall of cloud stands like a cresting tsunami immediately offshore threatening to envelop all of sinful civilization and wipe the endless urban sprawl from existence. The piers of beach towns, refineries of San Pedro and El Segundo, and the runways of LAX would be the first to be consumed. Like a white sheet draped over the face of a recently deceased, it is pulled inland. Rapid ghosts of shapeless clouds race through the streets and boulevards, encompassing automobiles, traffic lights and structures of all dimensions. Some nights the fog relents and contents itself with the coastal towns, other nights it is so virulent it spreads hungrily inland through downtown and as far as Pasadena or even the Inland Empire. Whatever it touches, the fog renders indistinct.  
Sometime during the hours of our lovemaking a fog of a particularly dense variety swept inland and enveloped the Bonaventure and its taller neighbors, only making itself apparent in the pale light before sunrise. The badger and I lay entwined upon the slate brown sheets of the large bed in the westward facing wing of the luxury suite. Shapes beyond the window glass emerge in the dreary gray mist. The outlines of nearby buildings stood out like ghostly geometric shapes silent in their proximity. The otherworldly light brought only slight achromatic illumination and with it and end to the night. There would be no true dawn, just a dull and persistent glow without time.  
The gloom seemed to strain our already overexerted faculties. The effects of alcohol, post-coital reverie and sleep deprivation began to weigh upon our eyelids. My mouth felt dry and dirty. I could already tell that my intoxication began to wear off, much to my displeasure, fearing the unwanted rationalization of my situation that increasing sobriety would surely bring. I held on to the moment as I held onto the badger, who still conscious but equally drained lay beside me on his back breathing deeply toward the gray ceiling. 
I huddled up against van Claude with my arm around him and my cheek against his chest. He in turn held his arm around me in unwavering gentleness. I sensed a certain pensiveness or emotional disconnection but found myself unable to verbalize the root cause and unwilling to break the silence. I resigned myself and thought the badger was what he was. 
His body radiated inner warmth that passed through fur and skin. I clung to this warmth to protect against the stark cold of the strange realm of in between space. This sensation seemed at once fracture, change, and possibility. Now in the static and timeless twilight I could feel the future begin to well and possibilities materialize and vanish, absorb themselves into the fabric of our bodies. Our bodies, caught in the failed transition of time in an unfamiliar and vast space. We existed in a transitory zone not merely of time and space as two bodies whose proximity appeared as an ultimate point of convergence. The convective warmth, the warmth of another, felt beneath my skin became the expression of this convergence. 
The badger turned toward me. I remembered feeling the coolness of the bed sheets upon me via the subtle transition of his motion. I looked into his eyes seeing the pale gray light reflected in them. The glint in the corona of his perception appeared as diffuse, as uncertain and as vain as the morning light, or so I seemed to believe.  “I don’t want this to be over,” I said in a timid voice that threatened to disappear in the silent expanse of space. The badger’s appearance remained constant, though never without emotion. Life, thoughts, and troubled body-language subtly shifted, influencing and altering the nature of his gaze. Acute silence resumed after I spoke and persisted for as the badger appeared to consider what I said, as if he had taken a pensive and troubled inward turn, as though what I said bore greater magnitude than I could realize. He looked older and sad in the colorlessness, perhaps a mere illusion of diffused light and fur. I knew he would not tell me everything, the truths and the given conditions of the future. 
“Neither do I,” he said, breaking the silence with an abruptness despite expectation. “This has been great.” He gently touched my muzzle, patting down my whiskers, “I’m glad it was with you.” I smiled. I remember a moment of elation as my hopes were suddenly affirmed and my anxieties placated if only for an instant. This was a transgression, I remembered, and I was the third player in a marital side-step. There seemed so much I wanted to hear said to me, but so little that could be perceived as credible, actionable, or truthful. 
The badger turned upon his side and faced me, leaning on his elbow. His naked body and sleek fur, matted in spots, dull and monochromatic in the morning light still appeared seductive, sexy and strong. I stretched out upon my back beside him and brought my arms behind my head. I offered van Claude a weary smile and noticed the badger staring down my wiry frame. His paw followed his glance and slowly caressed my chest and belly, yet paused before it touched my still exposed maleness. 
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I need to fly to Boston. I wanted to tell you sooner but…” his words trailed off, hoping for my immediate acceptance. I knew the badger frequently traveled, the words came as no surprise, but it pained me still to hear them. They indicated not only his imminent absence, but of the given conditions. There would be no breakfast, no sleeping in, no repeat and no life together. He would go to Boston, then to his wife, then who knew. I nodded, visibly disappointed. “I’ll be back in four days,” the badger added as if a consolation. I remained mute, left with little reason to protest. The switches were set.
The badgers paw moved as he took hold of my maleness. Despite our nudity, the broken barriers, and the repeated and heated sexual conduct, this motion felt discordant and improper following his statement. I couldn’t resist a sense of violation that I too repressed. His paw took firm hold of my manhood, apparently in an attempt to revitalize my arousal, which had diminished in the cool air and weariness of post-coitus. 
“Do you want to come with me?” the badger asked. “It’s not too late to get you on that flight. We would have a few more days together. Granted I’ll be cloistered most of the time, but I’ll find time for you. We could do this again, every night…” 
“…Until we get back.” I finished.  The badger nodded, enthusiastically. My mind, dulled from lack of sleep and intoxication processed van Claude’s offer slowly. I didn’t expect such a shocking offer. I honestly did not know how to respond. The urge, perhaps a strategic urge that van Claude attempted to coax from his sudden attention to my cock definitely had its influence, yet the suddenness with which his newest revelations came seemed far more influential. “Wow, Thanks.” I replied “but I better stay here. I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.” It took van Claude a moment or so to understand, but he eventually nodded with the impression that he understood my unspoken reasoning. 
“We will do this again?” He asked. “I hope so,” I replied in total honesty. “We can swing this again,” he promised.  “I’m gone often enough, no one will notice. We can make this regular, I’ll even drop work for it. You can pick me up and we can come back here, or wherever you want to go.” He paused a moment, staring off into the steady gray of morning that did not appear to be any brighter than before. “I really like you, kid.” As he spoke I noticed a hint of desperation in his voice, a subtle waver that inferred he understood what I too could comprehend. Yet I - we were too terrified to give words to. There would be no future between us. 
“I really like you,” he repeated, as if to ward off what nagged at the periphery of our comprehension. I forced a smile, partially enthralled by the awkwardness and reservation of his declaration. “I really like you too,” I replied and chuckled softly at the absurdity, two nude bodies basking in the aftermath of passion and the illicit exchange of sexual fluids uttering coy platitudes and timid declarations of affection. It all felt amusing, but in retrospect, it still saddens me.
The badger’s paw remained on my sheath, intently massaging the flesh of my maleness as if to develop tactile memory of its features. I put up no struggle or protest. I could understand the desire and the fascination for which he must have lusted long over and only finally had access to. I permitted him to explore my intimate anatomy. I now confess that his illicit touch enthralled me. I admit that my attention slowly drew to the badger’s sheath. I observed his cock-tip protruding from the white fuzz and discovered that it never quite disappeared into the warm confines. Some sensual thought must have never left the badger’s mind, I soon believed to have seen that cock-tip stir and perhaps even grow.
The badger began stroking the soft fur of my sheath, pulling it back and exposing my member. I had always felt a bit self conscious about my cock, especially insecure with others inspecting it; the badger did just that. Van Claude then asked, “Have you ever tied with someone?” just as his paw pads caressed the base of my shaft where my knot would emerge. “Not that often,” I replied. “We don’t always tie, it’s something very special. I think I’ve only tied a few times my entire life. Most guys I’ve been with don’t even like it. Either they don’t like the way it feels, or they just want a quick fuck and then be gone.” The badger looked up at me, surprised. “I’ve always envied the ability to tie. You canines are all very lucky. How does it feel?”
“Depends which end you’re on.”
“Have you ever been tied with?” he asked coyly. 
“Only once and that was by accident. I was dating a shepherd a few years ago. I always tried to get him to tie with me, but never was interested. One night, during some particularly heated lovemaking, it sort of slipped in and stayed there. I’ll admit that my intentions may have played a part in that incident.” 
The badger chuckled. “You foxes and your intentions, are they always so naughty? How did it feel?”

I smiled, feeling the mood lighten. My cock soon grew firm as the badger still had not let go. “This was a particularly well endowed canine so it wasn’t all that comfortable. He wasn’t happy about it either. It took some placating and a little bit of begging to leave it in. Getting it in is the easy part, you know. You don’t really grow accustomed to it, or at least I never did, or could.  It lasts a while too, which gets intense. Coping with it isn’t the right word either, I just had to let him finish. It seemed like more so than just sex. It’s another level altogether, almost Zen. This canine didn’t know how to appreciate it though, he was just in a hurry to finish and slip out. In the end the tie didn’t last very long.”
“That’s too bad. I always thought that if you had that part you would use it more. For me, and I believe a lot of others lacking that anatomy, it’s very enticing,” said van Claude slurring with intoxication. 
While I had since turned my body over to the badger to explore and manipulate in pursuit of our mutual pleasure, the nature of his touch appeared to change. Previously his every caress and physical contact felt as if backed by the most resolute intention. There now seemed perceptible hesitancy in the way his paw made contact with my body and the way he held and squeezed the base of my cock where my vulpine knot would form. It felt awkward and reserved like the touch of a timid lover, or as if the reluctance to enter into an extramarital affair had begun to express itself. Yet the badger’s focus on my maleness, the way his paw-pads slid over the exposed flesh affirmed a not yet satiated desire. He finally conceded as he asked, “will it hurt?” 
My ears perked at the badger’s phrasing of his question. He could have asked said “does”, but chose to say “will” as if he had made a decision he had not yet informed me of. I tried to reply as honestly as I could, “hmm. My knot is part of me, as it is every male canine. We are meant to use it, as every male has the urge to breed now and then, it can hurt, but there is also something rewarding that comes with tying and being tied that’s difficult to express. The pain eventually ceases to matter. Plus you can avoid some of the pain if your slide in before the knot grows too big.”
“How long will it last?” he asked in follow up, again with determined sounding use of the word “will”. 
“That depends. When I was tied, it only lasted 15 minutes after he came, but he was in a hurry to get out. I’ve heard that they can last an hour or even two.” I said.

“Do you like tying?” he continued, with obviously peaked curiosity and a subtle slur that revealed his state of mind. It became clear what his intentions suggested, though at the time I was still not convinced what the badger was pursuing.
I thought a fraction of a moment, also struggling with my alcohol clouded mind. I said “I do, there is no doubt about that. But like I said earlier, we usually tie to breed. It’s another level of intimacy that’s seldom shared and when it is, it feels as if an instinct is taking over. It’s a weird feeling. It’s almost like a new behavior.”
 The badger’s words slowed and trailed off, I could sense he grew uneasy and I suspected why. “Chalk it to all the alcohol, or perhaps a very young part of me that I’ve repressed and after the events of the last few days, has reared its head, but… I’d think I’d like to know how it feels…”
The badger paused mid sentence, averting his gaze toward something I couldn’t be sure of. He appeared as if he wanted to continue with further explanation of what he had just said, but seemed unable to utter anything else. Van Claude had managed to surprise me yet again. He went from the impeccable iconoclast of American capitalism to lecherous master, to repressed slave of his own profession and now he revealed a willingness to be submissive, ready to capitulate and be shown intimacy that he was incapable of producing or reciprocating. At once I felt that I started to understand him and conversely that despite all that we have done and had shared with one another, that I hardly knew him at all.
In that moment I too went speechless, taken aback by the badger’s renewed transformation. This seemed outside his character, not of the being he was or wanted to be. I had seen cracks in van Claude’s façade since the incident in the Mercedes, vulnerable spots and weaknesses and I had seen those grow. Some I deduced. Others he willingly showed me. Now I saw an irremediable rift between the act and the being behind that. Later I understood that all along he chased after was intimacy, a type of intimacy from which he could not escape, nor one that would abandon him.    
After a long moment, the badger finally continued. “Remember what I said last night? It’s been a long time since I felt…” he paused, “…this way. It’s something I never really had the chance to talk about for the better part of my life. I learned early on that people are always reading you, looking for a chance to control you with what they find. You know the power of sex; they are prying for that information most of all. You forget about yourself, try and cloak what you know would empower them as best as possible while looking for that tiny detail, that pupil dilating quirk that tells you what you need to know, that bit that gives you a handhold, leverage. Now, tonight, last night, I’m free. You let me experience it, and it’s been amazing, but you and I both have no clue what happens next. Please, I’m ready. I’m finally ready.” 
The badger let go of my sheath, took my paw and held it tightly, he didn’t give me time to overcome my surprise. “Are you sure?” I asked in an attempt to test the reality of the situation. The badger nodded twice in reply following with a concrete, “yes”. 
“But it might not be comfortable, especially if this is your first time and you want to tie.”
 “I know,” he said.
I remembered my first time, the apprehension and excitement, the conflict between the fear and doubt and the inner urge to turn one’s body over to another dimension of intimacy and pleasure. I knew this conflict waged within him. This conflict existed well before he met me. He chose me to help settle that conflict, now he wanted me to help him conclude it. I could not deny him that.
“Okay,” I said in a breath that expressed my own anticipation. We kissed. Our paws clenched. We moved toward each other and our lips met in a deep and passionate kiss that culminated with tongues dashing into another’s muzzle. Intimacy had become a rare event for me, being allowed to top rarer still; being asked to tie was among the most singular honors I could hope to experience. I normally content myself as the recipient, I never felt the need to top but would if asked.  
Our paws let go and subsequently resumed their exploration of our bodies, passing over flank, fur and male features. Our paws grasped and caressed the supple fur of our sheaths, feigning timid reticence. Our arousals soon penetrated the air, accessible to the touch of paw and paw-pad, exposed flesh free for curiosity’s sake. Our bodies slowly bucked against each other, forcing each other’s shafts through tightly clenched fists and against soft belly fur.  Excitement and anticipation grew as we both engaged to break yet another boundary, one even more illicit, more taboo than the last. The badger’s invitation had turned on a reflex within, the desire to mate and to breed, a desire seldom awoken. The badger knew that he now stood on the threshold of an experience from which turning back ceased as a viable option, that the concluding experience would become the culmination of his desires and alleged fantasies.  
My paw clasped around the badger’s shaft and felt it grow firm, resuming its distinct erect shape. I cannot attest to the thoughts that must have passed through the badger’s mind, whatever fueling his arousal and eagerness. I can only surmise that his fervor stemmed from a hidden desire, beyond reach and beyond the boundaries of good taste that touched upon the enticement of the immoral. Fervor I too knew well. The badger’s pre soon dampened my paw allowing it to swiftly glide along the exposed skin. The lusts the badger awoke within me weeks prior, when he first revealed himself to me in the back of the Mercedes had not been satiated. I stroked and caressed the badger’s erect maleness with the same, if not heightened fervor, touching its now familiar features from the long shaft, to its curved tip and supple slit with giddy excitement. 
Despite our exhaustion, the lack of sleep and the soporific effects of alcohol, a renewed eagerness drove us both and revitalized us from within. Our weariness vanished as our arousal grew.  Both our paws appeared to yearn for the touch of each other’s intimate regions in a near perverse and fetishistic focus. Our fingers caressed glistening shaft, supple sheath fur, and tender balls within their soft pouch. 
The badger broke off from the kiss and leaned back nervously. I could empathize with him, for I understood the importance of the surrender he desired to undergo. I knew the responsibly of my position and the care I had to take. “I’m ready,” he said softly but with an adamancy that left no room for ambiguity. I applied tender kisses upon his muzzle and moved to caress his flank and chest in an appeasing gesture. The badger then rolled his back toward me and lay upon his side facing the impenetrable gray beyond the window. He lay with legs apart, revealing a path to his own, most intimate region. I remember the blacks and whites, how the light couldn’t fully illuminate his form. I didn’t know if it was night or day. I remember following his curvature down his spine, over his hips, his behind, not fully certain of what I would do.
The coarse gray fur of the badger’s back culminated in his short gray and black tail, which while lacking the dexterity of my own, wagged indicating some excitement and eagerness. I hesitated before touching van Claude’s tail, having first to overcome my own innate aversion to taking hold of it. Despite all that we had done, it still seemed improper to touch it, since in essence we hardly knew each other. Knowing what the badger had asked me to do and after considering all that we had already done, I gave into temptation and let my paw caress and stroke the short tail. The badger’s body tensed, the tail writhed and then relaxed. It pleased me that I could hold onto it without protest or discomfort and enjoyed feeling my fingers pass through its fur. 
My paw then descended, daring to touch the badger’s firm butt and allow my fingers to trace down the crevice to the badger’s tail-hole, his own most intimate spot. I realized then that in our previous lovemaking, I had not dared to allow my fingers to brush against it. I remained conscious of the badger’s dominance and fearful of displeasing him by touching his most personal region. Now he lay willing and I too eager. For the first time, my fingertips slid down between his cheeks and brushed the smooth and wrinkled skin of his tail-hole. My paw-pad felt the virginal opening, perhaps as much to my own delight than his. A brief, as if accidental brushed turned to a massage hinting of intent. The badger made no protest and simply shifted his body, moving his leg to allow me access.
I moved back and reached for the lubricant. I applied it to my paw and brought it to the badger’s bare tail-hole, its skin taught, and the color black. The flesh transitioned to pink in the center, a tiny point I thought looked inviting. I continued to massage and slicken the tight opening, enjoying the badger’s surrender, the granted freedom to enjoy myself teasing the opening, to break barriers and to please myself with the body of another. It felt enticing, erotic and most invigorating. I enjoyed such moments of anticipation, of imminent intercourse and especially the promise of my dominance culminating in an amorous tie. 
Van Claude’s body tensed and eased as my paw-pad spiraled over his wrinkled tail-hole. I took my time exploring the bared opening. My finger moved from the smooth black skin to the puckered pinkness. I could totally emphasize with him, those moments caused me to relive my first experience and the loss of my virginity. I wanted to share that experience with him, the unparalleled youthful energy and anticipation so heavily ingrained upon my memory. I performed every gesture, every motion that I remember performed onto me. I felt his opening, encouraging the tight previously unpenetrated muscle to relax. I nuzzled his back and caressed his fur as he anxiously lay before me. He breathed deep and sighed with a clear coalescence of fear and anticipation.
I felt the tight muscle begin to relax and loosen as I circled my finger around the opening. My paw-pad became the first part of me to dip into the badger’s warm passage. I felt the tight ring flex and tighten, then loosen up once more, allowing my finger to slide into the tight confines of van Claude’s tail-hole. His whole body tensed as my digit entered into him. He gasped, clearly not out of pain, but perhaps out of astonishment as a new sensation of pleasure coursed through him. His short tail tensed and wagged, brushing the matted fur of my belly. 
“Do you want me to continue?” I asked out of concern.
“Yea.” He said in an exhaled breath. 
I nuzzled him and buried my nose and whiskers into the gray of his back. After no reply beyond a hardly perceptible exhalation, I continued to slide the length of my finger into the tight warm opening of his body. My finger curled and my paw-pads coursed around the slick surface of his interior, exploring the male void. I caressed the inside of his passage and then slide my finger into the deeper confines of his tail-hole, into the depths my maleness ached to penetrate. His body felt hot and tight, slick with moisture and lube. I began to explore the badger’s intimacy, seeking out his prostate which I found and caressed, much to the badger’s relief and apparent pleasure. He emitted his distinct vocalization and bucked his hips back into my paw, as clear a sign of pleasure as I could have hoped to extoll.   
I realized that my own arousal began to grow once more. My knot started to swell and the urgency dawned upon me to continue, lest my knot prevent me from tying with the badger. I lubed up my already pre slick shaft and moved my body into position, on my side facing the badger front to back. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked. 

“Of course,” he replied in a voice that belied impatience if not a little strain.
 “This is it then, are you ready?” 
He nodded. 
“You know you can always tell me to stop.” 
“I know,” He said in a humble tone I had thus far not heard him speak in. 

I slowly eased my finger back out of the now loosened and lubed tail-hole. A hasty movement allowed my pointed cock-tip to find the badger’s opening, its ridged tip rubbing against the warm and slick skin. It felt strange to be in that position, on the verge of something I had so rarely done that it felt beyond exciting, almost wrong. I had to resist every urge to bury myself within him that instant. I savored the moment of imminence, the climax of anticipation and the intense urges before I succumbed to them and pushed the tip of my cock into the badger’s tight opening.
The badger gasped as my narrow tip slid into his slick passage. Van Claude’s tail-ring clenched the ridged point of my maleness but could not withhold the encroach of my maleness. The tapered tip and the length of my shaft spread apart his passage more with each moment of encroach. I huddled up closely against the badger and brought my paw to his own pre-dripping cock, stroking it slowly as I carefully eased myself into his body. He grunted and his back arched. His paws clutched the bed-sheets. I clung to his larger body in a perhaps vain effort of reassurance and tenderness in the hope of abating the unpleasant twinges in the new sensations coursing through him. I eagerly stroked his firm erection, trying my best to bring pleasure to the badger amidst the intense cloud of perception he must have been navigating. 

Fortunately for him, I was of average size. Whatever pain he must have felt dissipated quickly enough, though the perception of time seemed less than impeccable. I remembered the near eternity of anticipation when I was first hilted by another male. The badger winced, bit his lip and exhaled slowly as my girth passed into him. I slowly hilted him, pressing my sheath against his opening as I stroked his cock, which oozed a steady stream of pre and twitched while his tail-ring spasmed around the base of my cock. I felt my shaft enveloped by the supple warmth, the slick walls I had explored with my finger moments earlier now parted to accommodate the girth of another man. A wave of satisfaction passed over me, the incomparable sensuality of a tight passage around my maleness computed. A moment passed before I realized that I now mated another male; it could no longer be denied or prevented.
“Are you okay,” I asked. “I’m all the way in now.”
He nodded and exhaled, “I’m okay,” in a soft gasp.
“Does it feel alright? Do you want me to continue?” I enquired with genuine concern learned from experience.

The badger nodded again hastily and said nothing else, his features strained and his eyes tightly shut as the feeling of being filled coursed through him. His muscles felt taught and his teeth shone bared, silent but for soft repressed tones emitted through clenched teeth. I nuzzled his gray fur and started withdrawing and thrusting my tapered cock in and out of the badger’s tail-hole. He gasped and occasionally winced, but gave me no command or subtle indication to slow or to stop. His cock remained firm in my paw and I began to stroke it quicker as my movements increased, trying to give him as much pleasure as possible to distract from any discomfort. 
The badger’s soft, slick warmth enveloped my maleness totally. The ridges of my cock and its tapered tip delved deep into the never before explored regions of the badger’s body. My shaft easily slid through the badger’s tight passage, his soft and supple walls hugged my girth and teased the sensitive features of my flesh. My tip penetrated and spread apart his inner walls, leaking pre within him that would further stimulate my motions. So much time passed since I last mated another male that the feelings felt so intense that I had to keep my pace slow as to not climax before having the opportunity to tie.
I clung to the badger’s back, bucking my hips and forcing my cock through him. My slight member easily slid through his twitching tail-ring and into the hot depths of his body. In long slow motions my cock withdrew and re-hilted, bunching fur between the badger’s butt-cheeks. My knot began to swell, it didn’t take long before it’s lobes tugged and pulled at the badger’s tail-hole, a tie imminent if the badger so desired. 
The overstimulated badger began to vocalize louder, his intimate tail-hole filled with the thrusts of my vulpine anatomy. He would audibly grunt with every thrust, clearly overwhelmed with the mixture of pleasure and pain derived from being mated for the first time. Sounds of pleasure, the lighthearted coos of a newfound source of pleasure, began to supplant the ambiguous grunts of submission. I watched his features as our mating continued and observed the wincing and gritted teeth give way to softer expression, an open muzzle as if about to cry out with joy and closed eyes expectant of the next surge of pleasure. I continued to thrust, sliding my fox-hood in and out of the badger’s intimate passage and the fluttering muscle of his pucker. I took confidence in his progressive change of expression and bred him more swiftly and intensely taking notice of my own needs. I knew a tie would be imminent, I knew he craved the ultimate union and I was more than eager to oblige. I felt tempted to shove my maleness within him and tie once and for all, with or without consent. He expressed that desire, but I was unsure if he had any misgivings. A tie would be absolute for the next hour or so. My conscience prevailed and I decided to ask once more, though I felt unsure if I could accept any other answer than yes.  
I asked in confirmation, “Are you sure you want to tie? It’s happening.”

“Oh god yes,” and a guttural grunt was all he replied.

I hilted myself and pushed the distinct bulge of my knot through his tail-ring once more. I held it there, urging my hips forward with restrained thrusts. He grunted as the bulbous mounds stretched and pushed into his body for the last time. The badger’s passage grew tighter and tighter as my knot took it’s full size. It took only a few more moments we became physically inseparable. Tied, locked in the most intimate way possible. I bucked my hips, tugging and pushing myself against the badger’s passage, showing him that we were truly linked, though he surely knew this already. I wanted him to know, feel that my knot filled his body. 
I took a moment to pause, fighting the urge to begin breeding the badger. The sensation of his interior so tightly wrapped around my maleness was hardly possible difficult to repress. The male whom I had first tied with had denied me the courtesy of growing accustomed to the size. I had been mated and forced to deal with the change within me without respite. I nuzzled, distracted by the growing urge and said, “there. We’re tied.” The badger merely moaned in reply, a distinct smile across his muzzle, knowing that his body now a site shared by two. 
Foxes and other canines typically tie only to breed. Feeling the intimate passage of the badger snuggly envelop my cock and knot awakened an instinct within me that I could not deny or repress. It seemed like an instinct to breed, to claim, to make the badger mine. This was an urge, a very visceral urge that seemed to well deep inside my abdomen. All the sensations of lovemaking, the passionate feeling of being tied tripped nerves, forcing innate responses, hormones began to flow through me that took control. My time had come to mate and time to breed. 
I resumed my motions with the subtlest of thrusts, my knot locked inside the badger’s body and my cock deep inside the narrows of his passage.  I bucked against him, pushing and thrusting as best I could despite having my maleness clutched by flesh and muscle. I began to work quicker, trying in vain to push deeper, to have my sensitive cock tip delve into further even tighter regions badger anatomy. Van Claude began to gasp repeatedly as the knotted fox cock within him began to push and tug at his tight passage. His paw moved to my hip to tell me to slow, but it was too late for that.
Van Claude had desired the fox cock within him, knot and all. Now it latched within him with no sign of dwindling. His expression revealed a complex array of emotions and expressed sensations, sensations I became all too familiar with. His features retained a remarkable lucidity, his face, while strained with a deluge of what I knew to be overwhelming stimulation bore an air of dignity which resembled his character at its best and least tested. Amidst the array of emotions a slight barely discernable smile expressed itself, revealing some sort of covert knowledge known only to him.  Something admirable, enviable about that countenance struck me, even through the clouded perceptions of coitus.  
The look upon the badger inspired me to quicken my pace. I had to climax, I had to release my seed and breed the badger. I bucked, faster and faster, sliding my restrained cock against his soft interior. My thick knot and tapered tip spread apart the badger’s passage. I felt my cock throb and pulse with growing arousal and readiness. My vulpine pre oozed continuously into my mate, lubricating him from within. I heard him moan and grunt, but I hardly paid attention. I clung to him. My slender frame pressed up against his larger body so no free space existed between us, merely two writhing entities grinding against one another, linked in coital ecstasy. 
I had let go of his cock, my paw clenched and clung to his belly-fur with claws extended which pressed into flesh. The badger took hold of his own cock and stroked himself with equal intensity. I noticed his eyes clenched shut and his teeth bared, gritting against what I knew was more stimulation than he had ever felt before, perhaps more than he could handle. I knew the sensations from memory and even for someone as experienced as I; they pushed me to the limits of my own awareness, beyond comfort and stability.  
My consciousness shifted, as if into another realm. My entire body urged only one thing, climax. An intense physical spot deep within my torso seemed to grow; it enveloped my hips, balls and entire cock. It felt as if a pressure built up, an existential pressure that seemed to have grown all my life, as if every moment I had lived until now lead up to this instant. 
In one moment, a drawn out instant, it felt as if all that pressure left my body in a series of intense jerks. My hips pressed forward, my cock slid deep into he who in that instant became my mate. My climax arrived. My vulpine cock pulsed, ejecting every last drop of my white fox cum into the male badger. It felt like it lasted longer than a conventional climax, though I’d admit my perception of time may have been skewed. When it waned, it didn’t dissipate entirely; my cock still tingled with arousal that refused to diminish. 
I noticed that the badger too pushed himself over the brink. The scent of his cum filled the damp night air once again. I glanced over his shoulder and saw a white puddle of his viscous seed dashed upon the taught slate brown of the bed-sheets, a string of which still oozed from his cock-tip. He panted, exhausted and used. 
I lay behind him, feeling the heat of his body against me, it felt uncomfortably hot but I could not back away, the tie invariably linking us. “Are you okay?” I asked.
The badger nodded once more and replied in a swift breath, “yea”.
“Did I hurt you?”
“I don’t think so. I think I’ll be alright, though I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same down there.”
I smiled and chuckled softly. “That’s what it always feels like. You handled it all quite well, I’m sorry if I was a bit rough, I warned you about that.”
“It’s okay, it felt good. It felt different. Rather, it feels good. Especially afterwards, right now.” He said in short breaths, still panting, apparently relishing the situation. The knot within him, seed continuously seeping through his tail-hole, absorbing into the tender tissues of his body. 

My knot still pulsed within him with no sign of abating. The badger’s warm body remained wrapped around it, his weary tail-ring clutched idly at the base of my cock, just behind my fox-knot. No matter how much I tugged, there was no separating us. I felt my maleness throb and my cum continue to ooze into his body, I felt the additional slickness around my member that could only have been the pool of my seed poured through the badger’s passage. Van Claude lay against me and emitted an intonation that expressed contentment and relief, a sentiment I too knew from the context. I threw my arm around him and held him close, honored to have been the first to mate him and pleased to have completed our union with an irrefutable breeding.

I nuzzled him from behind. I felt embarrassed that I allowed an instinctual part of me to take control. The badger had seen an aspect of me that seldom surfaced, that I rarely allowed to appear and did that night. I still did not feel satiated, not even after the series of intense orgasms I – we had had that night. There remained a craving, an absence within me that still needed to be filled, but perhaps that was an after effect of sex and a consequence of tying. My cock remained ridged and showed no signs of diminishing. I knew from experience it would take up to an hour to soften and retreat into its sheath.
Meanwhile we lay together in the gray light of morning. The light had not changed; the fog beyond the window had not lifted, the air seemed just as cool and as moist as before. The scents of sex were also just as pervasive, to neither of our surprise. I only felt a little more sober. The night was over; the alcohol had passed through my system. My muzzle felt dirty, but there was nothing to be done, for now. I leaned over the badger’s cheek and whispered, “I’ll miss you”. 
“I’ll miss you too,” is all he replied. I wanted to say more, to blurt out a confession of love like I became accustomed too, but I refrained. It didn’t seem applicable. I felt I should say something that would bring closure and would end the experience on a happy, warm note, but nothing came to mind. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. The badger lifted his muzzle and bought his lips to mine. We kissed a last time that morning, and then we reclined into the pillows and the sheets and let exhaustion take us into unconsciousness. 

I woke up a few hours later to the sound of running water. My body, especially my foot paws felt cold. The badger was no longer beside me, light poured from behind the door to the adjacent bathroom. He was showering. It was 11:42 am. I sat naked and cold atop the wrinkled bed sheets amidst still damp cum stains. My body ached and my muzzle felt dry. My belly, sheath and tail were all matted and filthy. My cock-tip still poked out of its sheath. I played with my sticky sheath and tucked my cock-tip back inside its furry confines. It felt cold and a bit awkward having the tip protrude. I lay there, a bit lonely, reeking of sex and sin. I hadn’t slept nearly enough, perhaps a few hours. 
I sat naked upon the sheets looking haggard and feeling exhausted. After a few minutes the sound of running water ceased, thereupon several moments the badger emerged. His fur appeared damp, but clean, giving him a fluffy appearance. While he stood there naked I smiled thinking he looked cute. He returned a brief smile then turned to the large desk on the far end of the room and shuffled through his clothing and belongings that he had tossed there the night before. His back turned to me, his butt and twitching tail drew my attention. He glanced at his phone and then looked my way, gravely.
“Listen foxie,” he said “we overslept a bit. I need to be at the airport in an hour and forty-five minutes.” “Shit.” was my reply. 
“And we have to stop by the office. I left my travel bag there. I didn’t think we would be this strapped for time. 
“Do you really want to go?” I asked.
“Of course not, this meeting is a major pain in the ass. I have to go, plus I told my wife I rescheduled my flight for yesterday, hence the absence of questions. Anyway, this is an important meeting; it’s with Solstice over a development in Newport. We need to get going. We can talk when I get back on Tuesday, you’ll be there for me right?”
I nodded and swore a few more times and asked, “Can I at least take a shower?” 
“If you hurry, I need to get dressed. Hopefully my clothes aren’t too fucked up.”

I limped over toward the bathroom and closed the door behind me. It was a large space with slate tile floors, granite countertops and brass fixtures. The sink was a remarkably stylish shallow bowl of distinctly German design. I stood upon a towel the badger had thrown down. The air felt damp and the mirror was partly fogged from the badger’s shower. I went to piss, then stood around for a few moments, glancing into the mirror and felt drained of energy and dejected. The reflection of me appeared more worn and fatigued that I thought myself to be. In truth I lacked the energy to shower, but felt dirty and in desperate need of one. Without wasting too much time I opted against it. I had all day to shower and catch up on my sleep. The badger did not.
I clawed at a dried cum spot on my abdomen and proceeded to wash my face and paws. The warm water felt good upon my face. I rinsed my mouth out with water and spat into the shallow bowl. I decided it would be a good idea to wash and towel off my sheath before getting dressed. Van Claude asked “Weren’t you going to take a shower?” when I reentered the bedroom. I didn’t reply. He stood by the closet next to an ironing board he found there. He stood there in his boxers and undershirt ironing out his pants and collared shirt, a task he hastily completed as I meandered about gathering my wardrobe which had been scattered between the rooms of the suite. 
The badger got dressed before I found all my clothes; he called down to the valet as I put them on. He looked good in contrast to me. His clothing expressed order and his fur resumed it’s expected sleek and sheen. Mine were wrinkled and my fur was matted from head to foot-paw. I looked and felt like I had just crawled out of an orgy. We didn’t speak much as we left the hotel suite and retraced our steps to the elevator and the bleak lobby. The ursine valet awaited us at the main entrance, much to my own disappointment. I had hoped he wouldn’t be there. He looked at us both, I felt him stare at me with an accusatory glance as if he knew what we had done and somehow held me responsible. I felt his disapproval on me alone as he handed me the keys to the black Mercedes which waited at the curb. His glance fell upon me alone and made me feel like a cum-slut walking out of motel. The badger waited next to the door. I realized that I had better resume professional conduct in front. It felt like a bit of an insult after the night we spent together, but I realized that this was about representation and that I was in fact, back on the clock as of now.
We arrived at the airport with about a half hour before the badger’s departure. He spent the ride in the passenger compartment telling lies on his phone. Not much time remained for a long goodbye. He hugged me, held me and brushed my cheek, then disappeared into the terminal. By the time I made it home I got a text from him, telling me that he was lucky enough to catch the flight before the doors closed and that he was about to be on his way. That was all I heard from him for the next few days. I made it back to my Redondo Beach apartment in one piece but exhausted. It felt as if I hadn’t gotten any sleep in a day. The few hours of sleep seemed totally inadequate and made the entire experience feel more distant as if in a dream. I craved a shower badly, but sleep even more so. I stripped my clothes and passed out on the bed in all my filth. The scent of sex weighed heavy upon me and filled the air of my bedroom. 
The marine layer began to clear and the early afternoon sunlight broke through the clouds. Fog turned to haze and scattered clouds. Rays of sunlight broke through; people and trees cast milky white shadows upon the cement, asphalt and nearby beach sand. It had cooled off drastically. I crawled under my down comforter and clung to a pillow in my solitary bed. It all seemed quiet. The distant drone of jet engines taking off at the airport rose over the silence now and then with a low frequency rumble. The sheets felt cool at first, but warmed up around me. I fell asleep, waking up again later that night after dark. 

In my paw I held the now frayed and bent rolodex card I had stolen from Van Claude’s office. In reality, this could be any number. It had upon it the modest label “Home” written in black ink. A number stood easily discernable, though whose “home” number this was I could not know for sure. t must have been the badger’s. I had pocketed the card in the side pocket of my jacket and nearly forgotten it until the day after I left van Claude at the airport. It was a lazy and lonely Sunday. The weather cooled and it remained hazy. I found it doing laundry and other banal household activities that don’t warrant mention. That night I held it, sitting at the aluminum dining table in my kitchen. I came to associate that card with that Friday night. It came to represent the impossibility of the situation and yet I looked toward it for a solution. 
While I longed for the badger’s company and the wish to see him stripped, to touch him and feel his touch upon me seemed real. I knew two divergent paths stood before me and only one half-realistic. I would appeal to him to make me part of his life, or I would cease to be a part of it. I also knew I was his employee. I loved the job I had and certainly did not want to lose that. Loosing van Claude would mean losing that as well. Would we be able to go back to the way things were? Would I continue to be his secret liaison? For how long? I needed to know. 
Three days passed. I tried to live a normal life and enjoy the time I had to myself. When I walked through the kitchen or came home, the card was there. It made me wonder, was I enthralled? Was I pining for the return of the badger? Subtle reminders, olfactory memory, stray thoughts kept evoking the memories of the past few days, of the car, the office and the hotel. Perverse thoughts raced through my head. Lustful desires forced my sheath to stir at inappropriate times, resulting in an increase of masturbation. The weekend came and went. I let Monday pass, waiting rather intently, not allowing my work phone out of my sight. I anticipated the badger’s imminent phone call requesting pickup and the ride to the airport. I realized then, after three days of observing my own behavior, that I wanted him, badly. That realization was the most painful yet, for I had concluded that a future would him would be improbable. I had yet to ask, to talk to him, to appeal.
The badger’s call never arrived as planned. He did not signal his arrival back in LAX, nor request pick up. I stayed up until late in the night, sitting in front of the cell phone. I did not hear from him on the next day, or the day after that. I refused to call him on the work cell phone. That would be unprofessional. On the next Friday, a week had passed since our last encounter, the taboos transgressed in the office and the extramarital play in the Bonaventure. Southern California summer heat had returned and I sat sweating at the aluminum table in my kitchen. I wore nothing but shorts and a white tank top. The cell phone lay in front of me and so did the card, now frayed by my own fetishism. I decided then to call the work line, which I did. It rang twice, three times, four and then slipped into the prerecorded cordial voice of van Claude’s voicemail. I tried again, three times. I then left a message, texted and got no reply.

I found myself holding the receiver of an anonymous pay phone in a hotel parking lot near LAX. This seemed my last recourse, the only option left to break through and make contact, to extol either the words I want to here, or those I have come to dread and expect. I held the frayed rolodex card, balanced it on the top of the apparatus. I shut my eyes and took a final deep breath. I had memorized the digits of the number, yet glanced at them before dialing wishing not to err. My paw-pads brushed the aluminum keys of the touchtone phone, pressing number after number. The familiar varied sound of key tones clung in the receiver. It was a nostalgic sound almost absent elsewhere in my world. The pay-phone and touch tone land line were almost disappeared from perception, much like the rolodex or the type written letter. Yet I heard it here, I knew I participated in a drama that seemed anachronistic, distant as if from a bad movie of a past generation. 
 With the last quarter eaten by the machine, the final digit pressed and the last number entered into the keypad, dial tone shifted to ringtone with a mechanical click. My heart beat quickly; the ringtones seemed further apart than usual. I more than once wondered if the call was dropped, or the connection suddenly severed before the end receiver was even picked up. Three rings, four, sill no answer. My body tensed and my mind began to panic, computing sudden alternatives. Then an answer came. 
With an analog plastic click the receiving end finally picked up, before I even heard the voice on the line I felt relieved and vindicated as if a load were suddenly taken off my shoulders. Then I heard the voice. It was the voice of a child. I heard the soft, high pitch voice, the typical melodic voice of a young girl. “Hullo?” Relief turned to shock and fear as quickly as the lifting of the receiver brought with it a short lived flash of hope. 
“Excuse me.” I said. “I’m looking for a Mr. van Claude, did I have the right number.”
“Umm. I’m not supposed to be here,” answered the young voice which suddenly grew timid. “Hold on.” Then came a clacking sound as the child must have put down the receiver and run off without saying good bye. “Daddy, Daddy.” The young voice said, sounding further and further away yet still audible in the receiver. “There’s a phone for you. Yea. The phone rang and I picked up.” 
My heart sank, I was in total disbelief. I hoped to high heaven that the next voice on the phone was not the one I called to hear, but it was.
“Hello, this is van Claude. Can I help you?” said the badger’s voice.
“Henrik!” was all I could utter.
“Don? Is that you? How did you get this number? Never mind, why are you calling me here?”
“We need to talk.” 
“Not here you idiot. What possessed you to call my home?”
I merely stuttered.
“Goodbye Don, We’ll get in touch later.”

I heard the phone latch back on the receiver, a triple tone followed by the all too familiar dial tone of absolute finality. I looked at the receiver in disbelief, then around the small cubicle of aluminum and plexiglass. What I heard did not compute. The sound of the young voice speak in its juvenile sing song tone, “daddy” was too much for me to handle. I slammed the receiver against the apparatus in reply. A mechanical ring reverberated through the booth which shook in response to my violent motion. I had heard enough, the consequences of the short exchange began to extrapolate themselves within the synapses of my mind. I leaned with my arm against the scratched, translucent wall of the booth and buried my forehead against it. For the first time in years, I wept.  
I only permitted a brief trickle of tears to flow. I forced composure upon myself and exited the telephone booth. I gazed around the desolate parking lot at the lights and the nearby skyscrapers which I perceived with uncommon ambivalence. I strolled back toward the car and lay with my back upon the hood of the Mercedes. I gazed up and saw a handful of stars in the night that flickered pale in the heat distortion above the urban sprawl. This was no city, I thought. This was a sprawl, nothing more.  
I don’t know how long I laid there. Aircraft descended on the north runways at about four or five minute intervals, it must have been seven or eight though I lost count. It seemed as If I was suddenly drained of energy. No force urged me in any direction. I lay, content upon the hot hood of the limousine in what was in all actuality a rather suspect part of town. It may have been after the eighth or ninth aircraft that passed overhead that my cell phone began to vibrate. I knew immediately who it was. I contemplated ignoring it and allowed it to ring a few cycles. Reluctantly, I surfaced it and answered. 
“What were you thinking?” said the badger in a curt accusatory tone.
“I don’t know, I…”
“Just tell me what you where thinking. I don’t even want to know how you got my home number, tell me what on earth made you call me there.”
“Look,” I sighed, “we have to talk, about what happened last week, and… and then you disappear. I couldn’t get a hold of you any other way.”
“Not only is it grossly unprofessional for you to call my home, in doing so you are seriously jeopardizing my way of life. We have these protocols for a reason.” 
“I know, I… We… just needed to touch base. That’s all.”
“And do what?”
“Talk.”
“We will in due time.”
“When? It’s been a week! I’ve heard nothing from you, not even a text. Why didn’t you let me pick you up from the airport?”
“And it hasn’t dawned on you that I have my own problems to take care of?”
“That’s what I was trying to find out. I’m here to help you”
“I have a life, a real life that I’m trying to hold together. Is that too hard to understand? There is nothing you can do for me but stay back and let me sort out the pieces.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her? That changes everything! Why did you let this happen?”
“Why do you think? To protect her. Is that too hard to understand? Do you have any idea what she means to me? Do you understand what it means to have my number? Do you know how much that terrifies me?”
“I’m sorry.” I said. “I just didn’t know.”
“No, you didn’t. You have no clue what you’ve done or what you could have done.”
I sighed, feeling more defeated than before. “Where are you now?” I asked.
“I’m at the beach going for a walk. Please don’t come here tonight.”
“Okay. It’s just that things would have been so much easier if you told me, or if you got in touch with me sooner.”
“Listen.” He said sighing audibly into the receiving end of his cell phone and then pausing before replying. “I just told you I have my own problems to take care of.” 
“Tell me,” I said. “Please.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it, it’s personal. There is just too much going on right now. I’ve been handling problems my entire life, I’ve trained myself to do so composed. This, then you… it’s too much. I need you to stay back. I can’t have you work for me right now. Please, give me some time to work this out. “
“Why? What’s happening?” 
“Kid,” he said in a slow measured tone that made me feel diminutive and immature. “I’m going through a divorce.”
This too came as a shock. I faltered and couldn’t find a proper reply. “Are you telling me the truth?”
“Yes.” He said in an adamant tone. “This has been going on for a while now and I’ve been trying desperately to stop it. Then you come along, and then the other night happens. If word of this gets out, it’s a liability. I stand to lose nearly everything important to me. Marital infidelity, with a guy no less, is the last straw and could bring serious shit. More importantly, I could lose my daughter and you have no idea how important she is to me.”
I had no words, nothing to say, nor did I even know what to think. 
The badger continued, “I’m going to have to ask you to find a new line of employ. Please. I’ll give you a three month severance package, anything you want. I’ll even help you find a new employer, something better like we talked about. Just stay away until I have this sorted out and please don’t call my home.”
 “I see,” is all I could say. “I guess I have no choice.”
“Please tell me you understand.”
“There is a lot I don’t, but I understand what you want right now.”
“I’m sorry, Don.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“I really don’t want you out of my life, Don. You mean a lot to me. What we did was… great. And I want more of that. It will have to wait until the dust settles, there is too much on the line right now.” 
We both fell silent. The hum of the open line mingled with the electric hum of flood lights and fluorescence in every corner of the parking lot. 
“I’ll see what I can do for you. You’ll hear from people I know. I promise.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling my affects dulled to where everything seemed irrelevant.
“I’ll miss you.” He added.
“I’ll miss you too.”
The line clicked and the call ended. I flipped the cell phone closed and pocketed it. I thought to myself, “Now this is it. No surprises here.”

In the coming weeks no calls came. No job offers appeared out of the blue. It didn’t come as a surprise. An innate part of me continued to wait. Perhaps it is one of my faults, but I tend to remain true and trusting of my mates. I trusted Henrik van Claude, or wanted to. It was never a challenge to remain true to him, truer than he to his wife. Despite my nature, I was experienced enough to remain grounded to reality. There would be no future for us. The week-long affair with Henrik van Claude will remain in my memory. It was illicit, sensual and all too right, but one gray morning in September, not unlike the morning in the Bonaventura, it dawned on me that it was over and that I was on my own. 
Sometime after Labor Day I started feeling like myself again, thanks to the help of a few acquaintances that stepped in and worked on helping me put that experience behind me. The early days of September had turned out to be exceptionally hot. Even the beach cities sweated in what turned out to be an Indian summer. On one such evening in the small back yard I set the table for an outdoor grill-side dinner. I reached into my pocket and produced a matchbook with which to light the mosquito-repellent candles upon the table and thereupon realized that I was holding a matchbook from Perdidos Cosas. The matchbook Antonio the coyote gave me. In it, written in ball-point stood the coyote’s name and a number. I smiled to myself and repocketed the matchbook. I knew then that I would soon be waiting to build the courage to make a phone call outside the Telephone Booth.
The Telephone Booth – Part IV © Rufus Quintin