She was very attractive, and there was something very animated about her. She was full of energy, and of life. Life, for someone such as her, Dr. Stern knew, was a constant adventure. Life had been a constant adventure for him too, once.
When he was a young man, Dr. Stern had believed that science was destined to become the art form of the twenty-first century. This was just before the turn of the century, and he was still very optimistic about what the future would bring. So he wrote scientific papers that reflected his notion of science as an art. They were wild and strange papers, meant not to prove their point, but to provoke, and to make a statement. Dr. Stern made many statements in his papers during those days, statements about the human condition, and mankind’s place in the order of the universe. His papers were satires that ridiculed mankind and tore to shreds mankind’s feelings of dominance among the animal species. They were papers that were designed to make the reader feel uncomfortable. They were subversive works.
But then one day, one of his papers, “The Descendants of Pongo Abelii,” landed him in trouble. The truth was that the uproar had nothing to do with the content of the paper. The powers that be had started to notice Dr. Stern, and decided that he needed to be stopped, and they used the paper as a convenient excuse. But Dr. Stern didn’t know this, and blamed his paper, and blamed himself for writing it. From that moment on, Dr. Stern became one of the fiercest defenders of a power that he had initially set out to oppose.
But at any rate, he really wanted to talk to the girl next to him and since he couldn’t think of anything else to say, in order to break the ice he rather stupidly asked, “Just out of scientific curiosity, what is a furry?”
Clare turned to him, shocked. “Why on earth would you ask such a thing?”
Dr. Stern had not expected such an intense reaction from Clare. He stammered a few times and said defensively, “Well, I heard you say that Jack is a furry, and the guy is so weird that I was just wondering.”
Clare looked at the man by her side. He seemed harmless enough. Most men she met wanted something from her, and after investing an incredibly modest amount of time and energy on her, expected to get it. And if she didn’t want to give it, they got real aggressive real fast.
But she did like to have a man around to talk to, if for no other reason than to vent. So she often found herself looking for what she called a harmless man, a man who wouldn’t be pushy and wouldn’t get aggressive when he didn’t get what he was there for.
She said, “A furry is a kind of sexual orientation where the man or woman, well OK, they’re all men, is attracted to anthropomorphized drawings of animals. It’s kind of a role playing game too, where they live their lives vicariously through furry artwork. They’re perverts, basically. They spend all their time trading yiff.”
Dr. Stern was shocked. He came from a culture where what happened behind closed doors stayed there. But, Clare had also aroused a morbid curiosity in him, so against his better judgment he said, “Yiff?”
“Yiff is furry pornography. Yiff is also their word for ‘Hello,’ and their word for ‘Sex,’ and their word for ‘Do you want to have sex?’ That should give you an idea of their disgusting, depraved, and degenerate culture.”
Dr. Stern was again shocked, but once again curiosity got the better of him, so he asked, “They have their own language?”
Clare sighed and looked off wistfully into the canopy of dense foliage that blocked out the sky. “I first met Jack a few years ago online. You see, I was posting pictures of myself on this infamous, anonymous imageboard, you know, just for a reaction, although the reaction was usually ‘tits or GTFO.’
“So anyway, this guy says he likes my pictures. We trade information and start chatting. You know how it is, after awhile it’s kind of like we got to know each other, so I invited him on one of my father’s expeditions, to Lake Champlain.”
“And then you realized he was a freak.”
“Oh no, I was fascinated by him.”
“Why?”
“I guess it’s because I could never tell whether he was joking or being serious.”
“Neither. He’s psychotic.”
“Well, I know that now. Give me a break. I was just a kid. Anyway, all during Lake Champlain, we didn’t hook up. But it wasn’t weird, you know? After Lake Champlain I went to stay with him at his mom’s house in New Jersey, and one night we were drinking champagne of all things and Jack leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. I leaned back and let him. He climbed on top of me and what followed was a lot of heavy petting, don’t mind the pun, and soon we were both undressed. But then…”
Deep within the state of New Jersey there was a house, and beneath this house was an unfinished basement. In one corner of the basement there was a cluttered desk where sat a high-end gaming computer. There was dirty laundry scattered about the floor, and a big pile of it in another corner. And in yet another corner of the basement a queen sized mattress lay on the floor. On top of the queen sized mattress lay Clare Dare, and on top of Clare Dare lay Jack Holland. His mouth was locked to hers and he moved his hands all over her body, feeling its softness through her clothes.
She lifted her arms above her head and he removed her shirt. He fondled her breasts above her bra. She whispered, “You can take it off,” and he fumbled with the strap a bit before undoing the clasp and revealing two budding breasts, as pure and white as fresh snow. He removed his shirt and threw it aside, leaned in, and locked his mouth with hers again, and made out with her as he fondled her breasts with his hand.
He lifted himself off of her a bit, unzipped her jeans, and pulled her jeans and panties down to her ankles with a single movement. She kicked her feet in order to remove her jeans and panties completely. Still on top of her but lifted slightly on his arms and knees, he removed his own jeans and boxer shorts.
She looked up at him waiting expectantly for him to enter that region of hers that had only been entered a few times before, that wasn’t even yet covered with a full bushel of hair but had only sprouted a few blondish wisps.
But instead of entering her, Jack got up off of Clare and disappeared around a corner. Clare remained on her back confused, but then when she heard him rummaging around in the closet she said, “If you’re looking for a condom don’t bother. I hate those things.”
Jack returned however not with a condom, but dressed in a furry fox costume. A fursuit. His entire head was covered by a furry mask, his hands were covered by furry gloves that were designed to look like paws, and his feet too were covered to look like paws. His entire body was covered by the fursuit, except for one open flap in the back, exposing his bare butt, and one in the front, exposing his hard cock.
Clare sat up shocked and yelled, “Jack! What the fuck?”
Jack sat down next to her and said, “My name is not Jack. My name is Foxie McFoxtrot.”
Jack held in his arms a similar fursuit to the one he wore, but this one was a white rabbit. He held it out to Clare and said, “Put this on, and then you can be my little bunny. Do you want to be a bunny? Do you want to be my wittle bunny wabbit?”
Clare looked at the fursuit in Jack’s hands and suddenly her face turned red and she started to cry. With tears streaming down her cheeks she said, “Why are you doing this?”
Jack said, “Come on. Put the fursuit on so you can be my wittle bunny wabbit.”
Clare just sat there crying and said, “Oh my God you’re a fucking furry.”
Jack whimpered like a puppy and said, “Put on the wittle wabbit fursuit. Pwease?”
Clare was completely repulsed. She grabbed for her clothes, but Jack pushed her back down onto the mattress and pinned her there with his elbows and knees. More forcefully now he said “Put it on!”