The Ethics of Babysitting
by Alfador

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WARNING!! The following story contains explicit sexual acts between furries, one of whom *appears* underage. It also contains ethical concepts which you may or may not agree with. If you are offended by such subject matter, or if you are under the legal age to view such material in your area, do not read any further. By doing so, you agree to take full responsibility for your actions in reading this story. I take no responsibility for anything you may happen to do or read. This story is intended as fantasy only and any resemblance to real events, past or present, is entirely coincidental and probably a huge delusion.

If, after all that, you still want to read this story, enjoy. =^.^= It contains gender transformation, babysitting, diapers, magic, and some other stuff. And, despite the narrative point of view, the character who is a shameless self-insertion is...the fox kit, NOT the raccoon babysitter. ;)

One final note. The author requests that this story NOT be discussed in ANY forum other than personal email, for reasons of privacy. Do NOT distribute. Seriously.

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  John sighed as he got into his car and drove towards his latest place of employment. Babysitting didn't pay as well as his day job, but he enjoyed it. Enjoyed it far too much, he thought to himself. The raccoon was seen by others as very shy and introverted, and for good reason. He couldn't explain why he only felt attracted towards cubs, kits, or whatever you wish to call furries of the prepubescent variety. Nobody in the office even considered that he might be gay; he was actually bisexual, but didn't show attraction for either sex, because it just wasn't there.

  He'd always felt love for young children, which was how he got into babysitting. He loved to play with them, make them laugh, clean up their messes, watch movies with them...but never anything sexual. No matter how much he wanted it.

  John remembered watching a "Most Wanted" TV show with his family some years back. He remembered the trauma, emotional and physical, that inevitably followed in the wake of a pup molestor, rapist, or cub pornographer. He wanted no part of that.

  Quite literally, he loved cubs too much to ever give in to his desire to have sex with them. He swore he'd rather die than hurt the little ones he loved.

  But that also meant that he walked a dangerous line whenever he babysat, like he was going to now. He nuzzled their fuzzy tummies, he played with their tails, he changed the littlest ones' diapers. When he felt himself getting a bit too yiffy, he would make sure his charges were safely engrossed in whatever diversions they had at their house (most often TV or video games--but do your homework first!) and would hide away in the bathroom to paw off. Not once did he neglect to lock the door, for the consequences should a kit accidentally walk in on him...

  The raccoon shook his head and brought his mind back to the road. 57th...ah, there was 59th Street. He stopped, signaled, then turned right onto the dead end when the coast was clear. He pulled his VW Bug up to the address he'd scrawled on a scrap of paper: 3141 59th Street, backing into the driveway.

  He paused halfway out of the car. Something struck him as odd about the way the house sat on the lot. It looked strangely out of place with the domiciles on either side. He shrugged, slammed the door shut, and half-skipped to the front door, seeing a sheet of paper taped to it.

  "Jonathan--Sorry we had to leave early; Alfie has been instructed to let only you in. Emergency numbers are on the fridge. See you at 11:00 and remember the instructions!"

 John did indeed remember the instructions he'd written down in his last phone conversation with the Thompsons. Their six-year-old, Alfie, would have already had his dinner, but could be allowed snacks...but not too many. Movies were limited to a PG rating. And last, the fox boy had a bedwetting problem, and so John would have to put Alfie in a diaper before bed. On the plus side, this also meant that he could have water or juice to drink before bedtime if thirsty, since he'd be protected.

  On the other plus side, the raccoon had mused, this meant he'd get to diaper a young kit--one of his favorite parts to babysitting. In addition to seeing young cubs nude, it also especially turned him on to put diapers on them. Something about the crinkly padding oddly enticed and aroused him. Frequently he'd have to distract an infant with toys immediately after a diaper change, so that he could dash off to the bathroom to paw off. He couldn't do anything to let on that he got some special pleasure out of seeing the young ones naked, though. It would hurt them. It would hurt their families. In the long run, he knew, it would hurt him too, but that was secondary. He loved cubs too dearly to harm them in any way. But if no cubs were involved in the actual sex...

  That line of thought had led him to certain online sites which, unlike traditional porno sites, featured drawings and other artwork of furries in erotic, or overtly sexual, poses. Some featured little kits in sexual situations, but unlike underground stores of cub porn, these involved no actual children and so were safe both legally and ethically. He never even visited "normal" porn sites, except by accident--pop-up ads and the like. The cub sex was only in artwork and fantasy. But for real life, babysitting was his greatest pleasure--and greatest torment, knowing what he wanted to do to the young pups, but loving them too much to actually do so.

  His mind thus wandered back to the present, and he rapped sharply on the door. The window curtain to the side rippled, and a cute vulpine face poked out. The kit looked wary, and said "What's yer name?" The raccoon answered, "I'm John Morton. Are you Alfie?" The young fox's face lit up, and disappeared from the window. John heard one, two, three latches unlock, then the door swung open. "Yaaay, the babysitter's here! C'mon in!"

  John smiled, a rare treat was the cub who looked forward to the babysitter. Most despised him on principle, and their trust had to be won--and then never abused. Since junior high, he'd steadily built a reputation among parents as a trustworthy babysitter. Not an undeserved one, either: he genuinely loved cubs, and did everything he could to keep them safe. Especially from himself. Someone objectively looking at the situation might wonder why he tempted himself with these babysitting jobs. The truth was, he had been growing depressed in recent years, as he realized that he would never be able to find a companion, someone to share his life with. Never mind the fact that he yearned for both male and female companionship...the mere fact that he only had feelings for underaged kits precluded any possibility of a relationship. Heck, even ignoring for the moment the legal and ethical problems, eventually any cub would grow too old for him. He'd turned to babysitting as a means of release and self-discipline both: first, he could allow himself purely innocent cuddling with little cubs, and second, he was forced to develop the self-discipline necessary to protect these kits from his own sexual urges.

  As he closed the door behind him, he watched the cute vulpine tails swish out of sight into what he presumed was the living room. He latched the locks he'd remembered...wait...tails...plural? He finished locking the door, then strode into the living room. Alfie was sitting on the couch there, wearing tan shorts and a blue striped shirt, watching some cartoons. John looked, and counted one, two, three fluffy fox tails. The raccoon sat down beside the young fox and opened conversation. "Hi, I'm John. What'cha watching?"

  "Hiya! I'm Alfie, pleeztameetcha," he said, sticking a handpaw out solemnly. John grinned foolishly and took the hand, giving two gentle shakes before letting go. "An' I'm watchin' cartoons. I like 'em 'cause they're funny." the kit smiled. John looked uncomfortable for a moment before asking, "Um, this might sound silly, but...why do you have three tails?"

  The young fox kit giggled, and whispered conspiratorially into the raccoon's ear, "It's a secret. I might tell you later, heehee." John halfheartedly grinned, and sat back to watch the cartoon, noting as he did that Alfie's headfur had been dyed a bright blue. He marveled that there were parents in the world who would allow young pups to do so; quite obviously it could not have been done without permission by one so young.

  A few anvils later, Alfie turned to John during a commercial break and said "I could go for a snack. Did Mom say it was okay for me to have some chips?" The raccoon smiled and said "Not chips specifically, but she did say you could have snacks in general. Could you show me where they are?" The young fox nodded and led John to the kitchen, opening up the pantry "all by myself!" He pointed out a bag of tortilla chips, steak flavor, that was too high for the kit to reach on his own. He ripped open the bag and poured a large bowlful for the two of them to share. As Alfie carried the bowl back out to the living room, John glanced at the fridge door and saw the list of emergency numbers, right where it was supposed to be. Just in case.

  They munched on the chips, the raccoon and fox watching more cartoons with very silly characters who would smash each other with gigantic wooden mallets, into pancake-esque shadows of their former selves, and then pop back up to seek out the next deathtrap which invariably never worked as advertised. As they worked their way to the bottom of the bowl and the crumbs of chip and flavoring left at the end to stain fingers and muzzles, John noticed it was getting on close to Alfie's bedtime, as laid out by Mrs. Thompson during their earlier phone conversation.

  John was just about to mention this fact to Alfie, but the young fox spoke up first. "All those chips made me thirsty. I wan' some apple juice!" John shrugged and got up to get Alfie a cup of juice. (Can't hurt, I mean, he's going to be in diapers tonight anyway...) the raccoon thought to himself as he poured the juice. After returning the gallon bottle to the refrigerator, he carried the plastic cup full of apple juice back to the couch. The young fox jumped down and took the cup into his handpaws, saying "'M not supposed ta drink on the couch. Mom says I could spill an' stain it." John was almost startled at how quickly the young vulpine downed the full cup of juice. (He must have been thirsty...) he thought.

  After taking the cup from Alfie and setting it by the sink, John decided to bring up the inevitable topic of bedtime. "Uhrm, Alfie, it's getting on close to bedtime for you. Um, do you know what your mom told me about what you have to wear to bed?" To the raccoon's surprise, the kit didn't feign ignorance, nor make faces. Instead he nodded, "Yeah, I know, I gots ta wear diapers, 'cause I wet the bed." John was impressed. "You know, most kits your age that wet the bed don't like it when they have to wear diapers, 'cause they're big cubs, not babies."

  The young fox smiled and noted, "But I kinda see it as a small price to pay for not wakin' up to a wet bed. See, when I was just a baby, I wore diapers all the time, 'cause I needed to, ta keep from makin' my pants wet. An' now that I'm a big kit, I wear diapers just at night, 'cause it keeps me from making my bed wet." John was almost totally stunned at this display of maturity and logic from a six-year-old kit. He quickly composed himself, however. "Well, um, since you just had quite a bit to drink, could you direct me to where the diapers are, so I can get you into one?"

  Alfie grinned and dashed upstairs. "Follow meee!" giggled the young fox as John scrambled after him. In the upstairs bathroom, the raccoon opened the cabinet next to the sink to find an open package of disposable diapers (size XXL) and a changing pad covered in pastel pictures of baby furs at play. He spread out the pad on the floor and motioned for Alfie to lay down. The raccoon's heart was racing as he undressed the young fox. He'd done this countless times before for bedwetting cubs--why was this time so different? Maybe it was the fact that Alfie didn't seem to resent being put in diapers, unlike most kits his age. It seemed that, like the smaller infants John had changed, he could care less about his padded status. This was probably even the same changing pad he'd laid on since infancy.

  John got the young fox's shorts and underoos off, then unfolded a diaper. He glanced at the kit's face--smiling. He lifted up Alfie's legs and slid the diaper under his rear. As the raccoon fastened the back panel's tailtape around the young vulpine's triple tails, he wondered again what in the world could cause such a...mutation. Yes, perhaps that was it...just random genetic drift. But then why had he said it was a secret of some kind? John looked into those mischievious fox eyes and shook his head. Didn't matter. Not now. He had to finish the job, not stare at...

  But as always, John ended up sneaking more than just a passing glance at the foxboy's undeveloped sheath and scrotum before pulling the front panel of the diaper through Alfie's legs and securely taping the sides to the cute colorful design on the front. As Alfie stood up, the raccoon risked a gentle pat on the padded behind, causing the young fox to giggle. "All done," John noted, and Alfie nodded, grabbing his shorts but not putting them back on. "It's warm tonight;" the fox answered the unasked question, "I can sleep in just a diaper 'cause it's too hot for pajammies."

  Indeed, it was a warm summer night, so the kit's explanation satisfied John's mild curiosity. Thinking back on what he'd seen, what was now lurking inside a layer of absorbent padding, the raccoon decided he needed some alone time. He followed Alfie to his room, tucked him in, and left, shutting off the lights. No nightlight even, he noticed. He then dashed right back to the bathroom, where the changing pad was still on the floor. His eyes focused on the open package of diapers. He stuffed them back in the cupboard, folding up the changing pad too, one hand cupping the growing bulge in his pants. He closed and locked the bathroom door, pulled his pants down, sat on the toilet, and started stroking his growing erection with one handpaw as the other pulled a length of 2-ply toilet paper from the roll.

  The thoughts of his young charge lying in bed, possibly wetting that diaper right now...ooh...it was too much. He gasped as he came, having mastered the skill of near-silence during orgasm, the sticky raccoon semen squirting out into the wad of soft toilet paper he held tightly to his cock with one hand as the other pumped firmly at the shaft. He basked in the feeling of relief it gave him, then quickly flushed the evidence, cleaning himself off with another piece of toilet paper.

  He pulled his pants up, washed his hands, and opened the door. To his amazement, Alfie's face was staring right up at him. "Alfie, what are you doing out of bed? It's bedtime! Or did you want something to drink?" The fox looked a little embarassed. "No...no, I...I guess that juice got to me a little quicker than I expected. I...I wet. And I can't get to sleep with a wet diaper, so could you...could you change me? Please?"

  John breathed deeply. "So...you had an accident? C'mon, I'll fix ya right up." The young fox shook his head. "Actually...it wasn't an accident. I was going to go to the bathroom, but I figured since I was already wearing a diaper, it wouldn't matter...but now I can't get to sleep like this. I...I just need a change." John crouched down to bring his face to the level of the kit's face. "Hey, that's okay. I'll change your diaper, don't worry."

  John got the changing pad and diapers back out, and grabbed the plastic container of wipes--unscented, he noted--and instructed Alfie to lay down again. He noticed that the foxboy had really soaked his diaper: yellow stained the absorbant padding from the waistband all the way down to the crotch, almost to behind him--no wonder he couldn't get to sleep in that. He untaped the diaper and began wiping the young fox's crotch fur almost automatically. After he undid the tail tape and folded up the old diaper, he noticed something strange. Alfie's little kit penis was poking out of its sheath. This startled John. He'd known, intellectually, that sometimes male infants would get stiff during a diaper change, as an unconscious physical reaction--but he'd never witnessed it...nor heard of it happening to a six-year-old. He grabbed another wipe to make sure the young fox's fur was clean, and as he rubbed, he saw the little cock sliding further and further out.

  "Hey." John heard the voice and snapped his head up, already feeling tingly with embarassment. "I was just..." he started to say, since he HAD just been wiping Alfie clean, when the kit said the unthinkable. "You can touch it if you like."

  Utter shock ruled the raccoon. Almost in a daze, he reached out with bare handpaw and gave Alfie's shaft a gentle stroke...and then the full enormity of what he was doing crashed down around him. His eyes grew wider than he'd thought possible, and with a low moan, he tore out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Where? Where...there! He spotted the downstairs bathroom, and, almost slipping in his haste, scrambled inside and slammed the door, locking it.

  He collapsed against the wall, sobbing. He'd touched him. He'd taken advantage of his position as a babysitter, and...and... The raccoon couldn't take it. If it had gone this far, if he couldn't control himself now, then...

  John heard a small rapping at the door. He wanted to shout "Go away! I don't want to hurt you!" but instead he just sat there, unable to do anything but make soft whimpering sounds. "It's me, Alfie," came the voice from outside, "I need to talk to you. Could you let me in?" This time, the raccoon managed to get out between sobs, "No! I've harmed you. You need to stay away from me."

  What he witnessed next shocked him almost as much as his own action had. The young voice of the fox kit took on a tone of maturity on a level he seldom heard even from his coworkers, as he said, "You didn't harm me; I asked you to do that. And I need to talk to you RIGHT NOW." With that, the lock clicked open inexplicably, and Alfie walked in--still naked, since John had not finished changing him into a clean diaper before...before...

  "You didn't harm me," the young fox repeated, "you did exactly what I said you could do. But I suppose I owe you an explanation now. Let's begin with my tails." At this, the raccoon's emotions did a complete 180 from self-horror to utter confusion. "What...what do your tails have to do with...with me doing...THAT to you?"

  Alfie gave a wide grin. "Everything. To begin with, I'm older than I look...and I mean MUCH older." The raccoon gave a short bark of hollow laughter. "Oh, sure. I suppose you're really a midget 25-year-old, and all this is just a setup to give me the time of my life. Yeah, frickin' right." The fox reached out to John, and touched him on the shoulder, despite the raccoon's attempt to shy away from that touch. "Actually, the truth is a lot more unbelievable. You want to know my real age? I'm two hundred and seventy-one years old."

  Before the raccoon could protest the impossibility of it all, Alfie's story came forth in a rush. "I'm really a magical being from another dimension...no, seriously! I've traveled this world looking for people I can help. I found you in a deep depression, and so I hung around you as much as I could, getting a feel for your mind, trying to find the cause of your depression. Then I found out that you were a rarity indeed: a pedophile, but an ETHICAL pedophile. In spite of your babysitting hobby, and flying in the face of your desires, you had never even TOUCHED a cub in a sexual manner. Because you have too much love to do such harm. You do get release every so often. But the knowledge of who you are, and what you desire, has been tearing you apart for years. My idea was to undo all that by giving you...well...it'll seem too good to be true, but I can give you what you've always wanted: a young kit who can be a companion--yes, even a sexual partner--to you, without harming anyone, and without growing old."

  As Alfie gave the raccoon time to absorb all this, he smiled and put his arms around John. Almost as if to dissuade him, the raccoon sputtered, "B...But what do your tails have to do with all this?" Alfie seemed to sense that John was still uncomfortable and backed off as he explained: "As I said, I'm really, REALLY old. And yet I appear young. That's because of a part of my magic. I don't age beyond a certain point, which I reached long ago. Some legends say that magical foxes like me grow extra tails when we become more powerful, or that the tails are instead the cause of being more powerful. But the truth is that both are caused by other sources: age and the experience that comes with it. As I grow older, I experience more, and grow in power. And as I age, my tails increase in number. Eventually, I will have nine, if I survive that long. But though I may die sometime in the future, it will not be of old age. And I can transform my appearance to whatever I can imagine with enough detail. Which explains how I look so young. And that," the young fox concluded, "is what my tails have to do with me wanting you to touch me. I want you to be happy. Making others happy is what makes me happy--what makes my long life worth living."

  The raccoon shook slightly. "I...I don't want to seem cynical, but this...this could just be a story you're making up...to make me feel better. C'mon, magic and you being over 200 years old? I need to see proof." The kit grinned. "Unlocking the door from the outside without a key wasn't proof enough? Alrighty. I'm going to turn myself into something else that you really like...as further proof that, while I can't exactly read your mind, I do have a very good sense of who you are." Alfie made some motions with his hands, and shouted "Abra-cad-X-chromosome!" The kit's body seemed to ripple and waver before John's eyes, but the most noticeable change was that his sheath disappeared, the fold of skin at the top creeping down his crotch to form into...into...

  (Holy crap,) John thought, (He's a she now...Alfie turned into a girl!) Indeed, Alfie's little sheath had transformed into a similarly small female sex, and the tousled clump of headfur had lengthened into shoulder-length blue headfur. (It MUST be magic...) John thought to himself, (...the blue is...is NATURAL...) "Satisfied?" the young vixen murred, her voice almost exactly the same as before, unchanged by puberty at either end of the transformation. John could only dumbly nod, overwhelmed by all the impossibilities of the evening. "C'mon. Let's go upstairs and we'll work out what to do." With that, Alfie led her dumbstruck babysitter back upstairs to the other bathroom.

  When the pair arrived at the scene of what the raccoon had been sure was a crime, Alfie picked up the balled-up wet diaper and tossed it into the trash. "I've got something else to tell you. How I found you. I can't read thoughts like a book...that sort of telepathy is far beyond anything I can do. But what I can do is view minds like a painting, getting a feel for who a person is over time--usually a few weeks to a few months. It didn't take all that long, with you, because your internal struggle was such a large part of what defines who you are. I wanted to end that struggle, to make you happy. But now I need to know: Are YOU ready to accept this? Do you really want a sexual partner you can find attractive without feeling guilty about it?"

  John breathed deeply. "Do you really expect me to say no to that? My only concern is that you might not be who...or what...you seem. I saw you transforming, but...this could all be a dream, or worse, a delusion. I don't want to hurt any real--" Alfie brought a finger up to the raccoon's muzzle. "Shh. I can't guarantee that I'm real; that's a matter of your perception. It all comes down to whether or not you trust your own senses." She held one of his handpaws in hers. "Sight, sound, touch..." The young foxgirl beckoned, leading John's muzzle down near her crotch as she laid down on the changing pad. "...smell...taste..."

  The raccoon gave in, and began slowly licking at the young fox's mound, eliciting a cute squealing noise from Alfie. "Yes...yes, JUST like that..." Tears of joy welled up in John's eyes, as the last doubts were shoved to the back of his mind. He was finally having a sexual experience with someone else, and they were both enjoying it. For the moment, nothing else mattered.

  After a few minutes of purest pleasure, reality intruded softly. Alfie gently sat up, touching a hand to the raccoon's face, and he reluctantly took his tongue out of her pussy. "I needed to let you know a few more things about me. Though my body may appear immature, I'm fully mature sexually no matter what form I take. This means I can have orgasms, just like you can. That's something no real kit could do. But also, I'm very...resilient. No matter how tight my insides are, you aren't going to hurt me if you put this..." she touched the growing bulge inside John's pants, "inside me. It may all seem too good to be true, but that's the way I wanted it. I don't want any catches. I just want to make you happy. That's what I do with my life--make people happy, one at a time if necessary. I truly believe that makes the world a better place."

  Alfie gently wiped a tear out of John's eye, then laid back down. The raccoon bent over to start orally pleasuring her again, but paused. "Um...one question? You said you're fully sexually mature. Does that mean it's possible for me to...get you pregnant?" Alfie smiled. "Forgot about that one. Technically, it is possible, but the way this form is made, I won't ever be fertile unless I change the hormones myself. Never in heat..." That was the last barrier. A bit unsteadily, he managed to remove his pants and underwear, and positioned himself over the young vixen. He thought for a moment, then, not wanting to crush Alfie under his weight, the raccoon picked her up and laid his back down on the changing pad himself, sitting the vixen on his abdomen, his shaft up at an angle, almost poking her.

  The little vixen grinned and ensured that it DID poke her, gently easing the raccoon cock into her slit, already slick with vaginal juices and raccoon saliva. As her tiny hips wiggled against him, John was in ecstasy. Her warmth was so wonderfully tight around his shaft, and he could smell the arousal coming paradoxically from the young kit...

  Alfie put all her focus into riding the raccoon's cock, and managed to reach orgasm mere seconds before the intense experience pushed John over the edge into a pleasure he'd never felt before. Not even when visualizing diaper changes. This thought flicked his vision over to the open package of diapers in the cabinet, and the sight squeezed a last rush of orgasm out of him. He felt a soft weight on his chest, and brought his eyes back to the small vixen laying on top of him, nuzzling his chestfur and murring softly. Their crotches were plastered with a sticky reminder of the sex they'd just finished.

  Alfie eased herself forward, pulling free of John's shaft, which let loose a large blob of mingled semen and vixen juices formerly trapped inside her. She giggled, nuzzled and kissed the raccoon, and fluidly twisted to grab the tub of baby wipes.

  A confused expression soon left John's face when the little fox began using the wipes to clean off their love juices, and he began helping. A couple minutes' work and the job was done; Alfie returned to cuddling with her babysitter and lover, a fresh diaper snugly padding her hips.

  John and Alfie lay there for a while, warm in each other's embrace and the afterglow of the first real sex John had ever had in his life. When several minutes had passed with the two snuggling, John spoke up. "Um, I do have a few questions for you, Alfie." The little foxgirl turned her head up to the raccoon's face and looked him in his gentle eyes. "I'm prob'ly quite prepared to answer them. What'cha wanna know?"

  The raccoon took a deep breath. "First off, what about your parents? You've said you're really old...are your parents really your parents? And what if they come home early...?" John trailed off as the little fox girl began giggling musically. "Oh...I'm sorry, John, you didn't realize...*giggle*...I took it for granted that you knew. Ahem. One of the most practiced magic powers I have is that of creating illusions. First off, you've never actually seen my parents, have you?" The raccoon thought for a bit, then shook his head. No, come to think of it, he hadn't ever actually seen Alfie's parents--their conversations had all been by phone, and they'd been gone when he'd arrived.

  "Actually, when you spoke to my mom on the phone, that was actually ME--in adult female form. So of course you wouldn't recognize the voice. Second, most of this house doesn't, strictly speaking, exist. Some of the objects we'd be directly interacting with, like the couch and the bathroom doors are illusion projected over a simple real object, like a rock or a leaf. The couch we were sitting on was just an old cushion. But a few of the things, like the chips we ate, or these diapers," she patted her own bottom and giggled, "are actually real things I bought with the little money I've made in this world to survive on. The house isn't even real--just an empty lot. I cleaned it up a bit before I set up the illusion, so you wouldn't get dirt and dust on your clothes or fur, illusion or no illusion."

  Alfie hugged her babysitter. "So now you understand why I can't stay here. Why I have to stay with you, John." Tears welled from the raccoon's eyes. "You mean...you're going to live with me? But how...I mean, what if somebody finds out...?" The little vixen snuggled closer to John. "Nobody will find out. I've got illusions, remember? I know your apartment has enough space for our special stuff, and no visitor will ever see it...or me. When we leave, I'll show you where all the real stuff is--there isn't much--and we'll go in your car. It'll be a responsibility, taking care of me as a kit, buying me clothes, and diapers, and such...but we both know it'll be worth it. But one last question remains. Will you do this? Is this truly what you want?"

  It took John a few seconds to digest all the information. Caring for a young kit...but on a permanent basis, and one he could indulge his deepest desires with, without guilt...one he could truly love... It took him no time at all after that, to arrive at a decision.

  "YES!!! Oh, yes yes YES!!" he cried with joy, tenderly hugging the smiling foxie.

  They went through the house, gathering up objects that Alfie pointed out--the bag of chips, along with two others, a few bottles of water and juice from the fridge, and of course the diapers, wipes, and powder--and placed them in a baby-blue diaper bag with teddy bear prints, that John hadn't seen until the young fox pointed it out. As they gathered the few real things from the house, Alfie continued talking to John about the benefits and responsibilities he would have. "You'll get to have fun with me as a boy or a girl, whenever you want. Over the time I've taken to get to know you, I grew to love you. All that remained was for you to discover me. (Here...that's too high for me to reach, you get it.) You'll also have to buy clothes for me...boy clothes and girl clothes...and diapers, of course. I know how you love that I'm in diapers." John was bending over to grab the changing pad from the bathroom floor, when he felt a poke to his bulging crotch and heard five magic words. "An' some plastic panties, too..." His knees felt weak, and he heard a giggle from beside him. "Hee hee, thought so. Crinkliness forever!"

  John grinned, getting into the spirit of it. "And I'm not going to buy you any boy underpants. Just panties. So you'll have to either be in diapers all the time as a boy, or be super-sissy!" Alfie grinned mischieviously. "I'll hold you to that. Hee hee!" The raccoon laughed and picked up the little fox, nuzzling her cheek. "Oh, my little kit...I love you too. The only gnawing doubt is that this is all too good to be true, that this is just a dream, or something..." He felt a sharp pinch on his shoulder, and opened his eyes to the grinning muzzle and outstretched arm of the young vixen. He chuckled as he gently put her down, "Guess that rules out a dream..."

  John zipped up the diaper bag and slung it over his shoulder, Alfie leading the way to the front door. There she stopped, and tugged at John's pants leg. "Could you carry me? I don't have any shoes..." Another connection clicked in the raccoon's mind. Of course she...sometimes he...wouldn't need to go outside once at his place; he couldn't have her seen coming out of his apartment...but of course she'd be invisible going in. Hopefully, the diaper bag would, too--he didn't want to have to explain THAT to nosy neighbors. Her latest explanation didn't hold water, though: if they were on an empty lot, then they already WERE outside. Hence: Alfie just wanted to be held. John happily obliged her, picking up the little vixen in both arms, with her hanging on to him to take some of the weight off his arms. He fumbled at the doorknob, getting it open, and carefully shutting it behind them.

  He gently set the young fox in the front passenger seat, Alfie's bare diaper crinkling as the plastic was pushed into the seat cushion, and carefully fastened her seat belt, tugging the shoulder strap down and hooking it on the corner of the seat back where the tail slot began, so she'd still have the added protection of a shoulder belt despite her diminuitive height. The raccoon shoved the diaper bag in the back seat, got in, and closed the door as he strapped his own seat belt on. He felt a tapping on his shoulder and turned around as indicated by the smiling young fox girl.

  The house was no more. All that he could see in the empty lot through the back window was an old couch cushion, a stained and broken mattress, and a few rocks and leaves arranged in odd patterns on the concrete foundation. The last spectre of doubt melted away in his mind, and the pair drove off into their new life.

***END PART ONE***