Dotty was no saint, and I should have seen it coming. When I met her, she was traveling with a pack of wild things, dumb cowards she dragged around to feed her insatiable lust. She kept a dog in tow, too, which I still can’t quite stomach. But that was the thing about her: She was unpredictable. Unpredictable and alive and loose.
It didn’t take much to solder me to her. When we first met, I was sore and all but rusted shut from a late night in the poppy fields. I’m no saint either, if you hadn’t realized, and sometimes you get a little lonely, being the only one of your kind. And sometimes you like a little attention. So sometimes you smoke opium with the Lollipop Guild and let them bukake you before Oz and the whole world. Because, fuck it, you get one life to live. Or that’s how I felt until I woke up to find Dotty pressing down upon me.
It was only a sweet, brief exchange that got me head over heels and hunting for a heart to call my own. Dotty’s lips met mine and woke me, just as another set of lips met my knee and starting oiling me up. Dotty’s pussy drips and drools like a terrier, and it was only a few moments before I was fully greased and ready to rise. That was it, though. At least for that morning. She got me standing, then wandered off. That was the thing about Dotty. She was always looking elsewhere, always on the move. Where she was going, what she was after, I never thought to ask—I just fell in line to follow her, along with all the others.
Hanging with those boys and chasing after Dotty was like trying to bathe three dogs in one bathtub. Everyone kept slipping out and none of us felt like we were getting the attention we deserved. We tried to joke around with one another, pretend as if we were all cool with the way things were going. We had goals of our own; it wasn’t just about her. But in truth, we were desperate creatures in hot competition for her affection. Dotty could see it, and she exploited it.
She fucked us privately, whenever a simple itch set in, but she preferred public degradation. It was punishment for our desperation, our neediness, our inability to see her as anything more than a prize to be won. And her favorite game was meant to do nothing less than reveal us for the true filth that we were.
After a long day of walking, she would select one of us, seemingly at random. She would set that one on his back and stand over him, facing away—an angled portion of her perfect ass curving above like a gibbous moon. With thoughtful, attentive strokes, she would work her selection until he was erect, and at the height of his arousal, she would release her… “Yellow Brick Road.” Her urine was a thick golden stream, meaty with dehydration from walking all day and most of the night, and we would have the opportunity to fuck her, yes, but only if we could get ourselves up and into her before she was finished and the road had vanished. We were not allowed to touch her with our hands. We were not allowed to move her or reposition her. The task was all but impossible, and we were never successful. Regardless, according to the rules, whoever did not spiritedly chant, “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” to the selected participant would be cut from the running for tomorrow’s games, thereby losing his opportunity for a glorious coupling with our beloved Dotty. So I was compelled to chant nightly for my sworn enemies, fists churning the piss-thick air, lustful jealousy rattling around inside my empty, metallic chest.
I marveled at Dotty’s twisted capacity for punishment, but it was ultimately a hell of my own devising. We could have walked away. We could have left at any moment. But we kept coming back. Some of us were too stupid, maybe, or too cowardly to leave. Me, I was something worse.
One night, when she was loaded on poppy dust and looking for something stiff and hollow, she dragged me into the woods and unlatched the buckles at my waist.
“I want to tell you something,” I said, but she didn’t listen. She ran her thin tongue along my cool center, her pigtails tickling my rusty thighs.
“I love you,” I said as my thin tin dick ratcheted to life. “I love you and it terrifies me because I haven’t loved anyone in years. I’ve been a heartless fool. A loner not caring for anyone or anything that couldn’t hurt me or soak me in degradation. I was living moment to moment, thinking I could outrun my pain. I used to be a normal guy, just a woodsman in love, but it ended badly, that first and only other time. I want to be honest with you because I love you, Dotty. But all of this scares me. I lost it when my first love didn’t love me back. It hurt so bad, I chopped off my arm to take my mind off the pain. When I didn’t feel any better, one arm turned into two. Then a leg. Then the other. Then, finally, my enormous penis. When I was just a woodsman, Dotty, believe me, I had a penis that would tremble the tallest fir in the forest. But the pain of that first love not loving me back just wouldn’t go away, and I was brought to ruin by my own axe. A friend rebuilt me from scrap and some kind of magic or whatever, but I begged him to leave out my heart. I never wanted to feel that w—”
“Shhh,” she said, “you’re ruining it.” She slid me inside her and began to pump like a piston.
“But I love you,” I told her.
“I know,” she said, fucking me with indifferent force. She sighed, repositioned herself to face away from me.
“I’m happy for you,” she said, out into the night.
“Why?” I asked, and leaned back because I just couldn’t take it anymore, how hard she was fucking me and how sad I was starting to feel in that exact moment, with her fucking me like a vibrator, like a tool.
“You’ve found something to chase,” she said.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“You’ve found something to chase and it’s really something,” she said. “It’s me.” She lifted her hair up only to let it fall back across that tablecloth of a dress she refused to take off.
“Whereas I—” she said, but the word broke with a limp orgasm. She fell off me and I came in a few wild spurts across my lap and on the moss at either side of us.
“Me,” she sighed, “I’ve always deep down known that I was chasing nothing.”
And a rainbow broke out from between the mountains like nature’s ejaculate, fading across the sky.
The Cowardly Lion pushed up his green visor and sighed. He hadn’t had a new lead in weeks, and his job at Pussy Parade—New York’s rag of record for the town’s feline elite—was on the rocks. Subscriptions were down and the pressure was on for a killer story to entice new cats to the pride.
“Ding! You’ve got mail!” The Cowardly Lion’s computer was brought out of its daylong lull to bring him an all-important lead.
“Furballs Unite! Come to Rabbits Center, Midtown West for New York’s Inaugural Furry Convention.” The e-mail mentioned a fashion show, contests, DJs, and a dance floor, and welcomed all kinds of animals, including one he’d never heard of before: “fandom.”
Hmm. The Cowardly Lion certainly had lots of fur and had lusted after the occasional rabbit—though he usually just ate them. This seemed like the perfect feature for Pussy Parade’s society section, “Fancy Felines,” where he could cover a bunch of furry animals congregating in one place. There was even a dress code: “Non-thong bathing suit is the minimum amount of clothing allowable,” and any “‘anatomically correct’ costumes must be appropriately clothed in public areas.”
What animal wouldn’t be “anatomically correct”? The Cowardly Lion ran his paw through his Beethoven mane and looked down at his kitty cock. He assured himself that he was just fine, and shrugged. Well, he’d have to cover up, but he could only do the bare minimum, otherwise he’d get fur stroke. He called up Andre Leon Tabby, Pussy Parade’s stylist, and got a hold of a pair of tasseled pasties for his manly nips and a red sequin bottom. It wasn’t terribly virile, but the sequins on Eartha Kitty’s old pleather jumpsuit were a nightmare. Tabby had a warning, though: “I know you—you get into this immersion journalism stuff and then you get carried away. Just get the story and get out.”
He registered his name as Maximilian Clawbite—his professional alias and journalistic disguise. His real first name was Maxi, but he liked Maximilian’s machismo.
After arriving at Rabbits, Maxi picked up his name tag and took in the scene. Hundreds of fur-covered bodies were all around him: raccoons, foxes, wolves, griffins, coyotes, centaurs, rabbits, more foxes, cheetahs, pandas, some miniature ring-tailed lemurs, and some guy dressed like Pepé Le Pew. Maxi hadn’t seen this much fur in a long time. The saliva started pouring out of his wide-open maw.
“No, Maxi, be good,” he told himself. “Get the story and get out…”
Maxi was about to head to the bandstand when he was stopped by a foxy lady.
“Hiya, Maximilian. Can I just call you ‘Maxi’?”
“Uh…”
“My name is Vixen RooRoo, and you make me feel yiffy.” She sauntered up closer to Maxi and thwacked her tail on the floor, swaying her hips. Maxi put out his paw to introduce himself. Vixen shook it and shuddered.
“Oh. My. Gahd. You’re a real one.”
“Huh?”
“That. Is. So. Hawt.”
Vixen got down on all fours and put her rear end up in the air. She started pawing the floor and eyeing Maxi’s crotch. She curled her body around and, keeping her rear up, tickled Maxi’s cock with her tail. She tickled and tickled and Maxi felt his kitty penis—and all its flail-like spines—growing bigger and bigger.
“Whatchya got under there, Maxi? What are you doing in a Burlesque outfit anyway? You not a manly puss puss?”
Boosh! Maxi’s briefs burst open and Rabbits was showered in red sequins as Maxi’s kitty cock thudded onto the convention center floor like a big, rubbery, spiked dinosaur tail. Vixen’s tongue was hanging out and she was panting, unable to control her enthusiasm for Maxi’s genuine felinity.
Vixen asked Maxi if she could go down on him.
“You may, Vixen, you may,” he said grandly as she lowered herself on all fours again and began with the tip. Vixen wasn’t the only one starstruck by Maxi’s bestiality. The furry fandom had turned toward Maxi and were rabid with lust. The ring-tailed lemurs were doing a chain bang while watching Maxi and Vixen.
Although Maxi was enjoying himself, he saw, in the distance, what looked like a mere memory of someone he once craved. A wee canine with glossy black fur was across the convention center, grinding its behind on a unicorn horn. It was Toto, Maxi’s beloved buddy bear meat dog. Maxi’s cock grew to ginormous proportions at the sight of Toto, which ejected Vixen off his cock and sent her flying across the room with a shrill shriek.
Maxi stomped toward Toto, shunning all journalistic responsibility (not that he hadn’t already blown it—no pun intended) after Toto started double teaming, taking one horn in the ass and sucking another one off.
“Nooooooo, Totooooo! You’re my meat dog!!” Maxi shouted, stomping across Rabbits.
Toto stopped sucking, met Maxi’s gaze, then popped up in the air like a little black balloon, propelled by the rainbows farting out of his butt.
“Maxi!” Pfffft. “Maxi!” shouted Toto. “How I’ve missed”—pop—“you.” Toot toot.
“Toto!! Why are you farting rainbows?” Maxi bellowed. “I can’t catch you and I want to make love to your little meat dog ass!!”
“Oh, Maxi, that’s JUST”—toot—“what I would wish!” Pffft pffft. “I’m sorry, Maxi, this is what happens”—pffft—“when you fuck unicorns!”
Pop. Toot.
“What are you doing fucking unicorns anyway?” shouted Maxi. “It’s not manly. Now come on, come down here, let me do you right.”
“I’m almost”—toot—“done”—pffft—“I think,” Toto said. “Besides, you weren’t here, and unicorns”—toot—“are magical fucks.”
Toto alighted and Maxi thrust him onto the tip of his towering cock. The unicorns returned. One filled Maxi’s ass while the other put his horn in Toto’s mouth and soon they were grunting and coming a thousand times over, their mutual orgiastic bliss blasting them out of the convention center and landing them in a field of poppies.
Dazed, Toto, Maxi, and the two unicorns stared at each other, all their cocks plump, rosy, and sopping wet with juices.
“Look, over there,” said Toto dreamily.
Marching toward them was the furry fandom en masse. Within a few feet they bowed down before the two unicorns, Toto and Maxi.
“We followed you, o-o-over the rainbow,” said the furries. “We have never seen the like of you. We came here to be your yif, we mean, your sex slaves.”
And the unicorns, Toto and Maxi, lay back and got hella laid.