by David Sharp
The Trouble With Furries
David Sharp
Beau to Beau Publishing
Copyright 2013 David Sharp
ISBN: 978-1-6184-5247-4
All Rights Reserved
http://www.beautobeau.com
Copyright and Disclaimer:
This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author or publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or yet to be born, is purely coincidental and entirely unintentional.
Published in the United States of America.
Introduction:
Daniel is young, confident, and fascinated by the wolf, feeling that the animal is a reflection of himself. After losing his boyfriend, the alpha in their relationship, he craves a new alpha and finds Patrick, a handsome thirty year old, at club Trade. When Daniel begins working at the club, he meets a flirtatious blond, who introduces him to his world, the unfamiliar world of the furry. Bringing Chad into his relationship with Patrick, Daniel carefully navigates the intricacies of an ongoing threesome while delving deeper into a world he fears, yet feels that he belongs.
Chapter One:
ANIMA: The unconscious or true inner self of an individual; the soul.
*
Daniel looked into the mirror, liking what he saw: the short hair and angular all-American boy face as his lean muscles dripped water from the hot shower. The mirror never lied, and that night it told him by reflection that he was hot.
"Tonight is going to be the one," he said to himself as he watched the water drip down his chest.
Absently, he ran a finger across his smile to feel the teeth below it and stopped at a canine. Playfully, he growled at his image and ran the same hand down his lanky body, glad that he had trimmed the day before. Daniel brought his gaze back up to his dark short hair and dark eyes: an animal's eyes. He wondered if he could have been a wolf in another life and he smiled at the idea of having run naked in the primordial woods. Doubts began to rise and he shut them away with a flex of his arms and upper body. They faded with the possibilities of the flesh before him.
"This time will be different," Daniel exhaled and continued, "and I can forget about the sailor."
He shut out the image of Dean before it overwhelmed him: handsome and blond, dominant and strong, leaving him here all alone for a ship at sea. A cool smile spread across Daniel's lips.
"Fuck it, I will find me a new Alpha."
*
Out of the darkness, the bass grew louder as the tempo climbed. A strobe light flashed, illuminating the dance floor briefly before multicolored lights engulfed all of it to a techno beat. Daniel looked over a sea of skin, of muscled shirtless men dancing under a sparkling disco ball, as he grasped the second story rail. He felt good in tight jeans and a tight bluish grey collared shirt opened three buttons down. Letting his eyes drift, he found no one of particular interest, but he was in awe of the aptly named club, Trade, just the same. Overly confident from drink and youth, he turned away and felt strange hungry eyes assessing him. It always felt good to bask in attention, even the unwanted kind, as long as he was the center of it. Down the stairs he treaded through the male throng to make his way to his favorite bartender, Max, at the end of a long bar that edged the dance floor. Kind hearted, Max had listened to all of his stories of loss and aloneness of the past few weeks without judgment. Maybe that was what bartenders did, but he liked him just the same.
Max, a rugged forty, was attired in a bowling shirt. He leaned in and spoke over the din, "What trouble are you up to?"
"Roaming," Daniel shrugged, wiping the sweat on his neck before it dripped down between the buttons, and he added, "as usual."
A knowing twinkle sparked in Max's eye as he sized up his customer with a shake of the head. "Some trouble might do you good."
"You're telling me."
"What 'cha need?"
"Tequila Sunrise," Daniel replied, elbows on the bar top, careful not to wet his sleeves.
"Coming right up," Max said as he turned away with his bartender's magnetism. Once gone, it left a moment of emptiness and noise.
Daniel watched as Max took four more drink orders from a group of A-gays. He hated those queens, the kind who felt they were somehow on top. How could they feel that way in a gay bar of all places, in a time when society looked down upon the entire subculture, discounting it as debased and diseased? Disgust washed over him and he quickly looked away before one of them could make eye contact and get the wrong idea. He barely looked at the group, but he knew their type, having seen them before with their soft feminine traits forced upon male bodies, all fake actions and smiles. Daniel actually preferred having them remain faceless to him. The ones he wanted to meet were men, rough and trouble, like his lost sailor.
"That'll be two-fifty," Max slid over the glass brimming with tequila and orange juice. The red grenadine floating on top swirled on the movement, creating an artificial sunrise in the mixture.
Daniel snapped out of his self-conscious judgment and felt at a loss when he groped inside of his pockets and found nothing of comfort. His eyes widened like a lost puppy dog. "I um..."
From behind, a strong hand clutching a twenty dollar bill came down on top of his. Daniel looked back in surprise to see a dark haired man with a brilliant white smile and the look of a once model.
"I got it." The man confidently ordered, "And a couple of shots of Cuervo." He pulled back, releasing his quarry from the bar.
Max snatched the bill, rolled his eyes, and set about the task of change amid the deluge of wanting patrons.
Daniel slid around, rubbing his body along the front of the stranger until he had completely turned around and faced him. The man was a little taller than his own six feet, a little older by about ten years, and probably could take him in a fight. Daniel found something hot in that thought and was caught by the man's brown appraising eyes, barely visible from the long bangs parted to the side.
"Thanks." Daniel sipped the refreshing drink that was slid to his hand from Max.
Intense desire emanated from the man. "What's your name?"
"Daniel," Daniel bit his lip, "and yours?"
"Patrick, but you can call me Pat." The man looked around, acknowledging the blank faces, "...everyone does."
Max pushed the shots toward them. "Here you go, boys."
Patrick picked both of them up and placed one in Daniel's hand and looked daringly into his eyes. The crowd seemed to push in tighter and Daniel almost spilled his drink. Without a word, they shot the drinks with barely a gasp at the sharp taste.
Daniel curled his lip in an unconscious manner like his teenage crush, Billy Idol. "What are we doing after this?"
In pure confidence, Patrick moved closer so that their bodies touched. Daniel felt intimidated and he liked it.
"Taking you home and fucking you."
Daniel's gaze drifted back to the sea of flesh that moved to the ebb and flow of the bass on the dance floor, then back to Patrick. Deep down, Daniel knew he could never call him Pat, so Patrick it was.
"I'm game," Daniel nodded, "Let's go."
*
Patrick's loft was a conversion of two separate apartments, one above the other. It had lots of space, but it was not opened up to the second level, with the exception of the stairwell. All of it was neatly arranged and antiseptic. Daniel, regardless of his initial discomfort, strutted in and eyed the furniture, aware that he was being watched from behind.
"You got all of this stuff from being a bartender at Straps?"
"A good bartender," Patrick winked. "Do you want a drink?"
"Sure," Daniel sauntered the rest of the way inside and swept his gaze around to rest upon the spiral steps going up.
Patrick sensed the silence and stopped mid pour. Casually, he left the tequila bottle on the island that divided the living room from the kitchen. "Do I make you nervous?"
"Nah, I'm just..."
"Thinking about your boyfriend?"
Daniel laughed, "No, not inordinately. He went off and left me; not for somebody else, but for the Navy."
"Oh well, we don't have to do anything."
"He's gone. I don't think he's coming back, at least not for me." Daniel moved in closer and said, "How about you? There has to be somebody for a handsome bartender."
"He's gone too." Patrick carefully watched for the reaction. "He died a few months ago. He died of AIDS."
Daniel automatically backed up a step. "So you're positive then?"
"Yeah, but I play safe and always have a condom."
"Right," Daniel backed away another step. "Um, where's your bathroom?"
"The hall by the spare bedroom," Patrick nodded the way with a pained look of exasperation on his face.
"I'll be right back." Daniel put on an easy smile and walked on down the hall.
*
The bathroom door was shut and locked with a loud click, perhaps too loud for the quiet space. Daniel turned on the faucet and felt the cold water that poured out and swirled down the drain of the white porcelain sink. Thoughts flooded his mind: AIDS; gays dying; protesters on the streets; ACT UP; Reagan shaking his head and denying an epidemic; Bush continuing to ignore; and even Clinton, the current president, seemed helpless as men wasted away and died. All of it pointed to a death sentence: an anal inflicted death sentence, nothing to laugh about in the acronym. Yet he laughed as he looked in the mirror, exhaled, and laughed again. The image of himself, in his mind, of the man wolf that he was, laughed too.
"It will all be fine." Daniel reassured himself as well as the wolf with a splash of water, clearing his head like ice. A wipe of a hand towel, a click of the light, and he opened the door. Patrick was turned away, sipping on a drink in deep thought, his back facing him.
"I think I'll have that drink now." The smile came easier the second time as he put aside his weariness and approached Patrick, taking the pro-offered cocktail.
Patrick's eyes hardened, curious to figure out the guy he had picked up. "Are you really cool with this?"
"You're the Alpha, you tell me." Daniel stepped even closer and felt the body heat pass between them.
"Alpha," Patrick was perplexed. "What? Like a dog?"
"No, like a wolf," Daniel managed before nuzzling Patrick's neck with his lips.
Patrick accepted the unspoken invitation and unbuttoned Daniel's shirt slowly.
Daniel continued, "I've always been fascinated by the wild, by the wolf pack." The shirt was freed and dropped to the floor. Daniel gasped as Patrick slid his shirt off as well, revealing a chiseled body and a patch of fur.
"I can be your Alpha alright; in fact, I am always a top." Patrick plied his fingers at Daniel's tight jeans, snapped the buttons open, and slid his hand downward.
Images of running naked through the night woods with the howling of the pack filled Daniel's excited head. He wanted to say more to express his strange desire but could not find the words as the biting kiss at his neck held him back. "I'm fine with that. I can be a good Beta."
Chapter Two:
On the down comforter of the bed was Daniel, lying below Patrick, intertwined, naked, and sweaty as Patrick pumped away on him. Daniel bit his lip and moaned with each thrust as Patrick kissed him, both of them finishing the primal act roughly at the same time. Disengaged, Daniel scooted to the side, grabbed a towel, and panted.
"That was fucking hot."
"Yeah, I love your ass."
Daniel rolled his eyes and half sighed, "I'm going to take a shower."
"Wait." Patrick wrapped his arms around Daniel, holding him at the edge of the bed.
"What?" Daniel spoke softly.
"There is somewhere I want to take you."
"I don't want to go out. Can't we stay in for one night?"
Patrick tousled Daniel's damp hair. "We can one day, but first, we are getting you a job."
"What, now?" A perplexed Daniel rose up on his elbows.
"Yeah, now seems about right. Plus, you've been here every night this week."
"Hey, I'm not a deadbeat."
"No, but working would do you some good."
"Where did you have in mind?"
Patrick smirked, "At the club where we met - Trade."
Daniel's eyes widened, "Doing what?"
"Barbacking; you know, helping the bartenders."
"I haven't done that before."
"You can do it. I know Stina over there. He'll get you in."
"I guess." Daniel tilted his head. "What kind of name is Stina?"
"It's short for Stinaletti or something Italian like that. Stina is just easier."
"I don't know how to make that many drinks."
"You'll learn because I'm not going to support you."
Daniel playfully punched Patrick in the arm and said, "You fucker."
"You got that right," Patrick hushed him with a kiss and picked him up off of the bed, carrying him to the shower.
"I'll go," Daniel relented and flinched back from the water that blasted from the shower head.
"I knew you would see it my way." Biting and sucking on his neck, Patrick hoisted Daniel up against the cold tile as the mist rose.
Daniel let himself be taken, enjoying not having to think, but only to be. He wondered why he did not feel anything for Patrick. Even though he found him attractive, something was off, but in that moment nothing mattered except the animal sensation.
*
The neon sign was off and the cold unlit tubing spelled out "Trade". Unlike the colored nights, the building seemed muted in the daylight. Patrick's silver 1993 BMW 3 Series idled on the curb. Daniel did not want to leave the comfort of the car for the club, but Patrick nudged him.
"Go on, they are doing clean up in there. Stina should be in the office through the red side door. I'll be back in an hour."
"I'm going already," Daniel reluctantly did as he was told, not turning back once, even when he could hear the car drive away. He wondered what he was doing there, thinking he could have been back at his mom's place (or better yet at Dean's), but that was then and this was now.
The red side door opened easily but closed loudly. Daniel stepped down the small hallway past a stairwell, looked around, and realized that the times he had been here before, he never paid any attention to the club. In the different light it still looked cool and industrial, but also dirty and used. Through the metal backstage rails he saw employees here and there, none that he recognized, cleaning or stocking the bars. The dance floor seemed so barren and distant from his vantage point. Before anyone could see him, he rounded the corner of the black painted wall and found a cubby hole with another door, figuring it to be the office.
"Here goes nothing."
Daniel pushed open the door and got an eyeful of cases of beer piled up to the ceiling on the far side, and gay bar event memorabilia featuring drag queens and male dancers adorned the other walls. Behind a big metal desk a mustached man in his late forties with a pock marked face looked up from a stack of invoices, smiled, and took in Daniel like a cool drink of water.
"How can I help you?"
&nbs
p; Daniel swallowed and suddenly felt overdressed in slacks and a button down shirt. "I um...Pat sent me."
"Sent you for what?" Stina's eyes gleamed with mischief.
"He said you were hiring."
"Did he now?"
"Yes sir, he..."
A short, tanned, blond boy wearing tennis shoes, a muscle shirt and silky gym shorts with a real white tipped red fur fox tail bumped into Daniel, not seeing him from behind the cases of beer he was carrying.
"Sorry, dude."
The conversation stopped as he crossed to put the beer boxes with the others on the wall. Daniel was taken with him, intrigued by the tail that hung out of the shorts' elastic. Stina caught the chemistry of that moment.
"Chad, say hello to..." Stina smiled. "What's your name?"
"Oh yeah, I'm Daniel."
There was an uncomfortable silence as Chad checked out Daniel. He broke it with a laugh and exclaimed, "A newbie!"
Daniel pulled his eyes away from the blond and his mind away from the questions he was dying to ask about the fox tail. How was it attached? What did he know about anthropomorphic animals? Instead, he said to Stina, "Look, I'm here about the barback job. I have never done it before, but I'm a quick learner. Just tell me what you want me to do."
"Really," Stina asked, setting down the papers gripped tightly in his left hand.
Chad moved to Daniel's side. "Careful, he might have a heart attack or something."
"What?" Daniel got the situation. "Whatever, I didn't mean it like that."
Stina leaned back a little. "I am hiring, but I have to talk it over with someone first. Maybe you can fill out an application and leave it with me."
Chad nudged Daniel, "Show him your dick."
"That's funny," Daniel was taken by the directness.
"Look, here's mine," Chad pulled down his shorts.
Daniel felt spontaneous and looked at Chad's dick while he pulled his own out in a thrill of shared wrongness.
"You bad boys," Stina said as he rose from the desk and locked the door.
Chad grabbed Daniel and began pulling, getting a sexy laugh in return as Daniel played back with one hand while the other hand reached around to stroke the fur fox tail. Roughly, they kissed under Stina's gaze until there was a knock at the door.