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This chapter stars: \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tDarkCollective\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t		\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tDarkCollective\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
and \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tWaffleSquadron\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t		\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tWaffleSquadron\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
", "writing": "[t]Chapter Three Notes[/t]\nI've been getting a lot of negative feedback about Tom Fucks lately. It seems depicting the protagonist openly having sex with the corpse of his dead dog in the middle of a packed subway car holds less mainstream appeal than I initially anticipated.\n\nI've been repeatedly told such scenes are \"disturbing\" and \"over the line\" and \"indicative of underlying childhood trauma that we should continue to explore in future sessions\". It seems like every time I forward someone an unsolicited copy of Tom Fucks I receive a negative reaction. I even messaged Dragoneer at one point asking if he thought my humor was in bad taste but unfortunately he still hasn't gotten back to me.\n\nTo all readers who have expressed similar concerns, allow me to gently redirect you to the content warning at the start of this story. To all users who have filled up my inbox with pedantic complaints regarding 'necrophilia' and 'proper tagging', allow me to kindly remind you which fandom you're in. I know people who blacklist keywords and they're all cowards. As furries, our job is not to ask \"Why?\" it is to ask \"Why not?\"\n\nI hope you'll contemplate these words of wisdom as you enjoy chapter three.\n\n[center][t]Chapter Three[/t][/center]\n[center][b]1[/b][/center]\n\"You can do it!\" I whispered to my reflection in the restroom mirror. \"You can do it, Tom! You can do it!\" I repeated this over and over again, like a mantra, psyching myself up for success. As I spoke, my breath fogged up the glass, momentarily hiding the dark circles under my eyes. I looked like a fucking zombie.\n\nWhat I needed was not self-affirmations. What I needed was a slam-dunk interview and a cub wrapped around my cock. I needed to appear calm, composed, and most of all: confident. Which is why I had just snorted four lines of cocaine I'd stashed in my pocket for such an occasion. Jack had been kind enough to donate a few grams before I left his apartment that morning. I mean, he didn't know I'd taken them, but I didn't think he'd mind. The bag was just lying there, in a locked box, hidden underneath his bed.\n\n\"Just smile, maintain eye contact, and you'll do great honey,\" my mother used to say as she prepared me for my daily childhood bullying. And by the fourth line, I [i]was[/i] smiling. In fact, I felt great! I was energized enough to run an ultra-marathon, maybe cure a disease or two along the way. This would be easy!\n\nI strolled up to my caseworker's office with a confidence I had never known before, knocking twice before a polite feminine voice beckoned me in. I came face to face with a sharply dressed woman eating at her desk. Some sort of rabbit...thing, with long ears and a twitchy nose and a tail wrapped around her legs.\n\n\"Sorry, you caught me at the end of lunch!\" She held a paw over her mouth as she chewed. \"You must be Tom. Please, take a seat. I'll be with you in a moment.\" As she put away her things, I couldn't help but notice that she had been feasting on a disgusting platter of assorted fruits and vegetables--all without even a hint of garnish or dressing. I did note, however, that she was drinking from a bottle of refreshingly crisp DASANI® Purified Water, which made her tastebuds sing.\n\nShe gestured to a Ziploc bag. \"Can I interest you in some baby carrots?\" she asked cheerfully.\n\n\"No, thank you, I'm already gay,\" I said, taking a seat across from her.\n\nHer puzzled expression gradually turned to horror as she sniffed the air. \"My God... what is that smell?\"\n\nI sat Rusty down and plopped into my chair with an exaggerated grin, fingers drumming happily against my thighs as I hummed a tuneless melody. My eyes darted across the immaculately decorated office. Every detail seemed more profound and captivating than the last. A framed social worker license hung from the wall behind her desk. A plaque by the door proudly declared the room to be a paraphile-friendly space. Various MAP-pride posters with catchy slogans dotted the walls. A teenage wolf ripping duct tape from his mouth, \"BREAK THE SILENCE\"; a silhouette of an adult and child walking paw in paw at a park, \"LOVE IS LOVE\"; a young boy smiling at the camera, his paws together in the shape of a heart, \"YOU CAN'T FIX SOMETHING THAT ISN'T BROKEN.\" It was only after several minutes of waiting for the meeting to begin that I realized my caseworker had fallen completely silent, her uneasy gaze shifting between myself and the plush on the floor.\n\n\"...is that a taxidermied dead dog you brought with you?\" she asked.\n\n\"Why yes it is!\", I answered matter-of-factly.\n\nShe hesitated a moment. \"Okay...but why?\"\n\n\"Well, he's my best friend! I love him very much!\"\n\n\"That's...very...[i]interesting[/i]. Um...\" She seemed to struggle to put her thoughts into words. \"...was he yours?\"\n\n\"Actually he was adopted! I tried for years but I've been unable to conceive a dog naturally!\"\n\nShe nodded slowly. She struck me as somewhat shy, a bit fearful perhaps--which I chalked up to initial nervousness at meeting a new person. I decided to put her mind at ease.\n\n\"Hi, I'm Tom!\" I exclaimed, springing out of my seat and throwing my paw in her face with a big, friendly grin. She recoiled slightly, her eyes widening, and did not shake my hand. After a moment, I awkwardly dropped my paw but continued to stand there, making sure to maintain continuous eye contact with a toothy smile to indicate my lack of ill intent.\n\n\"...my name is Kauntis. Kauntis Conigliaro,\" she said.\n\n\"Nice to meet you, Kantiz Kongrioo!\"\n\n\"Ahem, actually it's Kauntis Conigliaro,\" she corrected graciously. \"An old lagomorph name...\"\n\n\"Katik Conigilione!\"\n\n\"...n-no,\" she corrected again. \"Kauntis Conigliaro.\"\n\nMy smile faltered. \"C-Cantiz Coneglaro?\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"Cactik Congeglro?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Cakik Cagaro?\"\n\n\"That's not it either.\"\n\n\"Cactus Kokkagaro?\"\n\nShe frowned. \"Say it with me now: Kaunt-is Con-ig-li-aro.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" I proclaimed confidently. \"Contiz Confringo!\"\n\nThere was a sudden whiff of ozone. The lights in the room grew dim, replaced by an eerie Latin chanting that swelled into a crescendo as a pen on her desk began to levitate and gently twirl with an unearthly glow.\n\n\"No!\" she said, pulling it back down again. \"It's—ugh, forget it. You can just call me 'Kaunt'.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Kunt.\"\n\nShe hesitated. \"It-it's Kaunt...\"\n\n\"K-AU-N-T,\" I said, making sure to fully enunciate each syllable. \"Pleasure to meet you, Kaunt!\" I jutted my paw out again expectantly. My caseworker glanced from me to my paw and back to me again.\n\n\"You can take a seat now, Tom.\"\n\nI settled back into my chair, careful to maintain my pristine smile and avoid unnecessary blinking.\n\n\"Well then...\" my caseworker said as she nodded to her computer monitor. \"It looks like you've been on the waitlist for some time now...\"\n\n\"Eight years and seven months!\" I chirped.\n\n\"Eight years...\" she raised an eyebrow. \"That [i]is[/i] a while...\"\n\n\"And seven months!\" I quickly added, rubbing my nose with a sniff.\n\n\"Well you're here now, and we are...so, so glad to have you.\" She flashed a polite smile. \"I am your case manager here at Cub Club. That means I'll be the primary liaison between you, your matches, and the organization as a whole. The meeting we're having right now is what's known as an 'initial consultation'. Any adult-attracted minors you've been matched with will have already received similar briefings. Typically how this works is we first go over your case together, ensuring your profile is accurate and up to date. Then we'll go over your preliminary matches one by one. I'll get you acquainted with their profiles, answering any questions or concerns you might have. Finally, if we agree that one of your matches is a particularly good fit, I can arrange an introductory meeting between you, myself, your match, and their family. If that goes well, additional engagements can be scheduled at times and places we deem appropriate. How does that sound to you?\"\n\n\"Great!\" I nodded enthusiastically\n\n\"Great...\" she agreed, a little less enthusiastic. \"Now, before we begin did you have any questions?\"\n\n\"Yeah!\" I said. \"When do I get assigned a child to have sex with?\"\n\nShe laughed, which was odd because I hadn't said anything funny. \"I'm afraid it's not that simple, Tom...\"\n\n\"Afraid?\" I asked, alarmed. \"Why are you afraid? Is there something to be afraid of?!\"\n\nHer chuckling faded as her tail flicked with unease. She scooted forward, paws fidgeting as she clasped them together on her desk. \"You know, Tom, I think you might have gotten the wrong impression about what we do here... That's not surprising, Cub Club is still in its infancy after all. This program is a trial initiative designed to collect data before we expand to other major cities.\"\n\nI nodded, pretending to know what she was talking about.\n\n\"Cub Club is often criticized on the grounds that children cannot provide informed consent. But a minor's [i]informed assent[/i] is at the core of what we do here. Our charter allows us to partially emancipate minors who enroll in our program, providing exceptions to the age of consent on a limited basis, if we've determined that doing so is in the minor's best interests. Now, I trust you've gone through the orientation handbook--\"\n\n\"Orientation handbook?\" I asked innocently.\n\n\"Yes, the one that was referenced in your enrollment email? The PDF attachment? It was mandatory...\"\n\n\"Oh right, of course, that handbook! Yes! Absolutely! Cover to cover!\" There were attachments?\n\n\"Good...\" her ears tilted slightly. \"Then you're aware that the majority of our matches never progress to sexual contact. You see, Tom, it's best to imagine our program as a form of modern, supervised pederasty. Think of it like Big Brother, Big Sister for MAPs. We cultivate healthy interpersonal relationships between minor attracted persons and adult attracted minors in a way that respects the dignity and well-being of both parties. Obviously, our primary concern is with the minors, and we aim to ensure that their experience here always remains a positive one. We pride ourselves on supporting cubs through what is often a turbulent time in their lives, fostering their development from vulnerable and inexperienced children to flourishing, confident young adults.\" She waited, looking pleased with herself.\n\n\"Cool!\" I said.\n\n\"Of course, sexual encounters can and do happen in our program, nobody is hiding that. We see sexuality not as something to be hidden or ashamed of, but as a normal, natural part of life that children should be given an age-appropriate outlet for exploring. We give cubs the training and tools they need to navigate their fledgling sexuality at their own pace in a safe and nurturing environment. Naturally, that means providing a partner--sorry, am I boring you?\"\n\nI had been nodding periodically to show I was following along but out of the corner of my eye, I couldn't help but notice a damp spot slowly forming underneath Rusty. Not wanting to ruin my shot by blemishing her spotless carpet, I stretched out my arms with a yawn, casually reaching down to pick up the dribbling plush, flipping him upside down as I hugged him to my chest.\n\n\"Not at all,\" I assured her. \"I'm incredibly attentive right now!\"\n\nShe frowned before continuing. \"If both parties do wish to become intimate, we follow a strict protocol with safeguards in place to prevent exploitation or abuse. Your enrollment in this program is contingent first and foremost on the assent of your match, as well as the approval of myself, your match's legal guardians, and at least two independent mental health professionals. We each hold veto power; any one of us can unilaterally terminate your interactions at any time. And of course, the impact of your relationship will be subject to mandatory periodic evaluations--\"\n\nShe was droning on and on, and I was doing my best to keep up, but my euphoria was already tapering off, and I had started to zone out a little. Her lips were moving, and I could hear the words, but my brain wasn't really processing them. As I pretended to listen, absentmindedly chewing on Rusty's tail, it occurred to me that there was no real reason for her to try to justify the program like this. I mean, it wasn't like [i]I[/i] was the one who needed convincing. My gaze shifted to the window behind her desk and the swarming mob of protesters below.\n\nI can't tell you how many times I've had to listen to the same patronizing lectures riddled with the same thought-stopping truisms that children cannot consent to sexual activity, that any appearance of consent is necessarily the byproduct of coercion or confusion, and that I am a horrible person for enabling this abuse. Thankfully the doctors recently upped my risperidone so the voices don't tend to tell me these things anymore.\n\n\"Is...everything okay?\" my caseworker asked, her concerned gaze following the trickle of blood that had evidently started running down my nostrils.\n\n\"Oh yeah!\" I said with a sniff. \"Absolutely! One-hundred-percent! So when do I get assigned a child to have sex with?\"\n\n\"...you did hear what I just said, didn't you Tom? You will be supervised at all times, every interaction you ever have with your match will be recorded. Even when you two go off on your own together you will be forced to wear a lapel cam--the footage of which will be periodically scrubbed by our review team. Any sexual encounters, assuming they do receive prior approval, will also need to be recorded and must always be initiated by the minor. You won't even be allowed to touch them without permission. If you ever violate any of these rules, or the review team begins to notice unhealthy relationship dynamics, or I pick up on even a whiff of duress or abuse--\"\n\n\"Yeah, yeah, I've done porn before,\" I said. \"So when do I get assigned a child to have sex with?\"\n\n\"...let's just start with your profile review.\" My caseworker turned to her monitor. \"Tom Hazlitt--\" she began.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\nShe tilted her head at me before continuing.\n\n\"Tom Hazlitt.\nAge: 31.\nSpecies: Skunk-Fox Hybrid.\nSex--\"\n\n\"Yes please!\" I said. She glared at me.\n\n\"...sex: Male.\nPreferred Match Gender: Male.\nPreferred Match Age Range: Five to Fourteen.\n...is this information correct?\"\n\n\"Yes! Correctly correct!\"\n\n\"Okay... Now, Tom, I'd like to go over some gaps I've noticed in your profile. It's important to make sure nothing is missing.\" She began to flick her scroll wheel which I found vaguely erotic for some reason.\n\n\"First off, your education. It says here you were enrolled at Foxford University...\" She glanced back at me with mild admiration. \"That's very prestigious...\"\n\n\"Yes, I was!\" I beamed. \"I majored in Computer Science with a minor in Childhood Anatomy!\"\n\n\"Uh-huh. And what year did you graduate?\"\n\n\"Oh, I uh...never graduated...\"\n\nShe began tapping on her keyboard, murmuring absentmindedly as she amended her notes. \"...post-secondary...education...incomplete...\"\n\n\"Alright Tom, now I'd like to confirm your medical history, and I want to make it clear that we're willing to make any special accommodations you might need. I see here you were diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Can you tell me more about how that has impacted you?\"\n\n\"Actually, I'd like to refute that diagnosis!\" I said, pulling Rusty in close. \"It was made when I was still a child, and I'm fairly certain I've outgrown it. I mean obviously, I never outgrew it because it was never there to begin with--although I can see why someone might have mistaken me for autistic as a child--which of course they wouldn't do today--because I'm not...besides, who isn't on the spectrum really? That's why they call it a 'spectrum' after all! Haha! I mean, let's face it, autism is basically the new ADHD... Anyway, I think most people would agree that I'm fairly neurotypical.\"\n\nOnce again my caseworker's fingers danced across the keyboard. \"...claims...to be...neurotypical...\"\n\n\"Now, as to your employment history...it's completely blank. Am I to understand that you've been jobless these past eight years?\"\n\n\"Not at all! Actually, I'm a freelance writer. I make a living writing stories [url=https://inkbunny.net/j/527795-DarkCollective-commissions-open-limited-basis-experiment]for commission[/url] on the Internet. I'm really quite good!\"\n\nShe looked unimpressed. \"I see. And have you been published yet?\"\n\n\"Um, well no. I mean, not 'physically' at least...\"\n\nShe rolled her eyes as she continued amending her notes. \"...employment...status...unemployed...\"\n\n\"Alright, lastly a quick glance over your criminal background history...\" Her eyes darted across the screen before widening with shock. \"...registered sex offender?\"\n\n\"Wait, I can explain!\"\n\n\"Sir, that's an immediate disqualification from the program--\"\n\n\"No, no, that's--\" I chuckled nervously, \"--that's well--you see it was all just a big misunderstanding! Hahahaha...\" I pointed both paws back to her monitor. \"I've already cleared it up, I'm sure your notes will say so!\"\n\nShe surveyed me suspiciously before squinting back at her screen. \"Oh yes...it says here you won your appeal after the state's witness failed to testify due to that catastrophic skydiving accident...\"\n\n\"Such a tragedy...\" I agreed somberly.\n\n\"Tom...\" she turned back to me. \"Was there anything I haven't mentioned that you would like added to your case file?\"\n\n\"Not that I can think of.\"\n\n\"You don't have anything else to include? Any added training, education, or special skills?\"\n\n\"Nope.\"\n\n\"Any additional employment, charity, or volunteer history? Especially if it involves working with children?\"\n\n\"Nada.\"\n\n\"Do you have any commendations or awards? Or at least witnesses to your character? A recommendation perhaps? Either personal or professional from coworkers, family, or friends?\"\n\nI thought about it for a moment. \"No, no I don't believe so...\"\n\n\"Okay...\" My caseworker paused a moment, studying me. \"...huh,\" she said finally.\n\n\"Huh?\" I asked hopefully.\n\n\"Huh,\" she repeated.\n\n\"Is 'huh' good?\"\n\n\"No, Tom, 'huh' means 'huh'.\" Her fingers tapped against the table. \"Tom, may I be frank with you?\"\n\nI confessed that I was somewhat surprised by the abruptness of her admission but added that I had plenty of transgendered friends and I fully respected her lifestyle decision. She stared back at me, cold.\n\n\"Tom, your profile leaves much to be desired,\" she said.\n\n\"Really? I thought it was pretty good...\"\n\n\"Yes, [i]really[/i]. In fact, this is quite possibly the least remarkable profile I have ever come across. Honestly, I'm not sure how you even made it onto the waitlist...\"\n\nI tried to smile but couldn't quite get my muscles to cooperate. \"...I thought you said I had a potential...?\"\n\nMy case worker sighed as she sunk back into her chair. \"Yes, I suppose I did... [i]One[/i] potential match.\" She started typing again, and my gaze shifted to her monitor.\n\n\"...just one?\"\n\nShe cast a venomous glance my way. \"Do we owe you more?\" It sounded like a threat.\n\n\"No, no! It's just I was...expecting a few others...\"\n\n\"You are only authorized to review the profiles of potential matches that have already approved you first. Can I assume you've downloaded the mobile app at least?\"\n\n\"Oh right!\" I fished out my phone.\n\nParticipants in Cub Club use a chat application to interact with their matches in a monitored environment. You can send text messages, forward photos, and review profiles. It was sort of like Tinder but for pedophiles. They called it 'Kinder'. I downloaded it the day I signed up for the waitlist and for the past eight and a half years it had been sitting on my home screen, silently taunting me. To my delight when I opened the app it auto-registered my phone number and signed me in automatically.\n\n\"Holy shit!\"\n\nMy caseworker watched with her chin in her paw. \"Mmm-hmm...\"\n\nA single match notification presented itself. My fingers trembled as they hovered over the screen. My arms were trembling too. Really my whole body was shaking--it was probably all the coke--but eventually, I managed to press the new notification icon, taking me to my match's page. And then...nothing.\n\n\"Um...\" I tapped on the refresh button a couple of times. \"I think it's broken. Nothing's loading...\"\n\n\"No, I think it's all loaded correctly.\" my caseworker said.\n\n\"What?\" I began to flick through the profile. Interests, biography, timeline--nothing was filled out. The only information available was the name, age, species, and gender--all mandatory fields.\n\n[i]Name: Waffles Squadron\nAge: 13\nSpecies: Fox\nGender: Male[/i]\n\nAnd at the top of the page, a single grainy thumbnail of a boy's face. I squinted at the screen. \"Why does his name say 'Waffles'?\"\n\n\"That's his name.\"\n\n\"His name is 'Waffles'?\"\n\nI clicked the profile picture but the blown-up image wasn't much better. Grainy and badly lit, it looked like it was taken with an early 2000s cellphone. The boy wore a hoodie that hid most of his features. Behind the darkened complexion was an aura of discomfort, like he didn't want his photo taken to begin with. He hadn't even bothered looking at the camera...\n\nI scratched my ears. \"So, uh, do you have anyone maybe a little bit younger?\"\n\n\"This is your only match.\" my caseworker replied. She seemed displeased by the question.\n\n\"Okay, okay! I can work with this... So uh, when do I get to meet him?\"\n\n\"Actually that's something I wanted to talk to you about...\" My caseworker paused, choosing her words carefully. \"This boy is a...[i]special case[/i]. One who has a somewhat troubled history in our program. He recently rejected his last long-term match and is currently searching for a new fit.\"\n\n\"Sounds perfect.\" I was intrigued.\n\n\"...normally we prefer to stick to our main pool when it comes to finding adult candidates. We prefer applicants with an extensive, well-reviewed history in the program, or newcomers who already have an established background working with children. However, occasionally we exhaust our main pool and are forced to broaden our scope to include waitlisted candidates like yourself. For Waffles in particular we are looking for a partner who is even-tempered, empathetic, and most important of all: patient.\" She lowered her gaze. \"Tom, can you please take your paw out of your pants?\"\n\n\"Sorry...\" I said, zipping up my fly.\n\n\"...as I was saying, Waffles is a special case who has [i]special needs[/i].\" She seemed to place particular emphasis on that last part.\n\n\"Special needs?\"\n\n\"Special needs, Tom.\" She gave me a look.\n\n\"Ah. [i]Special needs[/i].\" My caseworker nodded. So that's what this was all about... I coughed and leaned in, lowering my voice respectfully. \"You mean, uh...you mean like he's really into scat or something...?\"\n\nMy caseworker looked like something vulnerable and precious had died deep within her. \"No, Tom--\"\n\n\"'Cause you know I'm willing to try anything...\"\n\n\"Waffles has an intellectual disability,\" she stated bluntly.\n\n\"Intellectual disability?\" I blinked, the gears in my head slowly turning. \"Intellectual disability... Intellectual disability...\" Then all at once it hit me.\n\n\"HE'S RETARDED?!\"\n\nHer whiskers twitched. \"The modern term is intellectually disabled--\"\n\n\"YOU'RE PAIRING ME WITH A RETARDED KID?!\"\n\n\"'Intellectually disabled', Tom, please. A few years ago Waffles was involved in a car crash that left him with a traumatic brain injury he may never fully recover from. Currently, he has difficulties with reading, speaking, and processing information, as well as trouble with memory and emotional regulation.\"\n\n\"What the fuck?! That's not sexy! That's...sad!\"\n\nMy caseworker looked confused. \"Why would brain damage be sexy, Tom?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"This is all wrong! Where are we even going with this?! Like...I mean, w-well what kind of retard is he? Are we talking Rain Man retarded or Forrest Gump retarded or Slingblade retarded or...?\"\n\nMy caseworker glared at me with that familiar look of contempt I had long associated with authority figures throughout my life. Finally, she acquiesced with a shrug. \"Slingblade retarded.\"\n\n\"Oh...Jesus!\"\n\n\"...is that going to be a problem?\" Her claws scraped silently against the wood.\n\n\"A problem? No! No problem at all! Everything's fine, everything's...really, totally fine...\" I shifted in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs repeatedly. \"It's just--well I wonder if this is really the [i]optimal match[/i], you know what I mean?\"\n\nMy caseworker stared at me, her expression a blank test pattern of a face. \"No, Tom, I really don't think I do...\"\n\nI scratched the back of my head. \"Listen, Vera--\"\n\n\"--Who?\"\n\n\"Sorry, it's just you keep reminding me of [url=https://inkbunny.net/s/2689094]someone else[/url]... Listen, Waffles seems like a sweet boy, right? One of the best! I mean by all accounts a perfectly...stand up young man. It's just, well, you see when I signed up for this program I was under the impression that I would be assigned a child [i]slightly[/i] less retarded than that.\"\n\n\"So I take it you're rejecting the match, then?\" My caseworker's face was now half-covered by her paw.\n\nI pretended to give it some thought. \"Yeah, you know, let's go with that...\"\n\n\"Well I'm sorry to hear that,\" she said, but she sounded relieved. She stood up and so did I. \"I'll let his family know you've chosen to reject the match. Thank you for your time, Tom. I'll be sure to keep you informed of any additional matches that come your way.\"\n\n\"No, thank [i]you[/i]!\" I said, offering my paw. She looked at it a moment before hesitantly accepting the handshake.\n\n\"It was very nice to meet you,\" she said with a strained and cheerless smile.\n\n\"Likewise!\" I added, continuing to shake her paw. \"So...what happens now?\"\n\n\"Now you go back on the waitlist,\" she said.\n\n\"But I thought I was already enrolled in the program--\"\n\n\"Technically, you're what's known as an 'associate member'. You were temporarily placed in the main pool just for this particular match, now that we've determined it wasn't a good fit you'll be placed back on the waitlist again.\"\n\n\"Oh...\"\n\nShe looked down at our mutually shaking paws. \"...was there anything else?\"\n\n\"Yeah! How long will I be on the waitlist?\"\n\n\"There's no telling how long until you are transferred to the main pool. Could be tomorrow. Could be a week from now. Could be another year. It all depends on supply and demand.\"\n\n\"Right, but I've been waiting a really long time now--\"\n\n\"Tom...\" She paused. \"Cub Club is a [i]very[/i] competitive program. There is a thirteen-to-one imbalance between adult and minor participants. People from all over the world flock to this city to participate. Typically only our most qualified waitlist candidates eventually get accepted into the main pool. Professionals with extensive experience in child development and care. Social workers, educators, child psychologists...\"\n\n\"Yeah, so what's the hold-up?\"\n\n\"Well, obviously we judge each match on a case-by-case basis... However, every adult participant has an internal ranking based on their qualifications. The higher your ranking, the more likely you are to eventually get placed in the main pool and find a match.\" She started pulling her paw away. \"I think our session has come to an end--\"\n\n\"What about my ranking? Can I see it?\"\n\n\"No, Tom, that's why I called it [i]internal[/i]...\"\n\n\"Oh come on! I mean, it'd be a really big favor to me!\" our handshake had become a tug of war.\n\nShe closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. \"If I tell you your ranking will you please stop shaking my hand and exit the premises immediately?\n\n\"Sure!\", I said, \"I'll be out of your fur in a minute, promise!\" I let go and she fell backwards into her chair. She scowled for a moment before turning to her monitor. She typed and clicked her mouse.\n\n\"There are thirty-two thousand, nine hundred and thirty-five applicants currently on the waitlist,\" she said.\n\n\"Great! So where do I rank?\"\n\nShe clicked again. \"Thirty-two thousand, nine hundred and thirty-fifth.\"\n\n[t]Outro[/t]\nDon't start smoking kids. And whatever you do don't stop smoking. Nicotine withdrawal has been kicking my ass for about a week now. The physical symptoms and general irritability I can deal with, but the low mood? I'm the kind of person who gets incredibly fucked up the moment they fall out of homeostasis. Amazing how a few days of transient depression can completely distort your worldview. Suddenly it feels like everything is collapsing around you. Every time I try to work on Tom Fucks I feel like I'm just fucking it up.\n\nNeedless to say, I haven't felt very productive lately. I want to apologize for that, especially when I continue to get so much positive feedback on the story. A day ago I opened up [url=https://t.me/+n1atq7oAQHdjNmJh]Light Chat[/url] to the public and I've already gotten a bunch of new members. It's a bit overwhelming in fact. But I appreciate it. I appreciate it more than you guys know.\n\nI'm not very satisfied with this chapter. After finishing what I thought was the final draft I realized that it was missing an essential 'charm' that the previous chapters had. It was too abstract, not funny enough, and didn't delve deeply enough into Tom's internal mental state. Unfortunately, the chapter was already 6.8K words before any rewrites, not to mention incredibly dialogue-heavy. This is ostensibly a comedy, isn't it? Pacing matters.\n\nThat's why I've made the difficult decision to split chapter three into two chapters at the halfway mark. Yes, I know cliffhangers suck, and yes, I know the abrupt ending is kind of awkward--and yes, it kills me every time I read it. And that's ignoring the other identifiable flaws I've found in the current revision. But honestly, at this point, I think I really just need to put the fucking thing out there. Hopefully, by the time most readers come across this chapter, the fourth chapter will already be published and they can immediately jump forward. I always intended to go over all the chapters after I finish the story, bringing each one up to a level of quality you as the reader deserve. Consider this a rough draft.\n\nIt's late and my head fucking hurts and my roommate keeps pressuring me into playing Baldur's Gate 3 with him and I don't know how to finish this paragraph. So if you've read this far, I'll just say thank you and I hope I can continue to entertain you with this story.\n\n[right][b][i]// YOU ARE NOT VALID[/i][/b][/right]", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Chapter Three Notes
I've been getting a lot of negative feedback about Tom Fucks lately. It seems depicting the protagonist openly having sex with the corpse of his dead dog in the middle of a packed subway car holds less mainstream appeal than I initially anticipated.

I've been repeatedly told such scenes are "disturbing" and "over the line" and "indicative of underlying childhood trauma that we should continue to explore in future sessions". It seems like every time I forward someone an unsolicited copy of Tom Fucks I receive a negative reaction. I even messaged Dragoneer at one point asking if he thought my humor was in bad taste but unfortunately he still hasn't gotten back to me.

To all readers who have expressed similar concerns, allow me to gently redirect you to the content warning at the start of this story. To all users who have filled up my inbox with pedantic complaints regarding 'necrophilia' and 'proper tagging', allow me to kindly remind you which fandom you're in. I know people who blacklist keywords and they're all cowards. As furries, our job is not to ask "Why?" it is to ask "Why not?"

I hope you'll contemplate these words of wisdom as you enjoy chapter three.

Chapter Three

1

"You can do it!" I whispered to my reflection in the restroom mirror. "You can do it, Tom! You can do it!" I repeated this over and over again, like a mantra, psyching myself up for success. As I spoke, my breath fogged up the glass, momentarily hiding the dark circles under my eyes. I looked like a fucking zombie.

What I needed was not self-affirmations. What I needed was a slam-dunk interview and a cub wrapped around my cock. I needed to appear calm, composed, and most of all: confident. Which is why I had just snorted four lines of cocaine I'd stashed in my pocket for such an occasion. Jack had been kind enough to donate a few grams before I left his apartment that morning. I mean, he didn't know I'd taken them, but I didn't think he'd mind. The bag was just lying there, in a locked box, hidden underneath his bed.

"Just smile, maintain eye contact, and you'll do great honey," my mother used to say as she prepared me for my daily childhood bullying. And by the fourth line, I was smiling. In fact, I felt great! I was energized enough to run an ultra-marathon, maybe cure a disease or two along the way. This would be easy!

I strolled up to my caseworker's office with a confidence I had never known before, knocking twice before a polite feminine voice beckoned me in. I came face to face with a sharply dressed woman eating at her desk. Some sort of rabbit...thing, with long ears and a twitchy nose and a tail wrapped around her legs.

"Sorry, you caught me at the end of lunch!" She held a paw over her mouth as she chewed. "You must be Tom. Please, take a seat. I'll be with you in a moment." As she put away her things, I couldn't help but notice that she had been feasting on a disgusting platter of assorted fruits and vegetables--all without even a hint of garnish or dressing. I did note, however, that she was drinking from a bottle of refreshingly crisp DASANI® Purified Water, which made her tastebuds sing.

She gestured to a Ziploc bag. "Can I interest you in some baby carrots?" she asked cheerfully.

"No, thank you, I'm already gay," I said, taking a seat across from her.

Her puzzled expression gradually turned to horror as she sniffed the air. "My God... what is that smell?"

I sat Rusty down and plopped into my chair with an exaggerated grin, fingers drumming happily against my thighs as I hummed a tuneless melody. My eyes darted across the immaculately decorated office. Every detail seemed more profound and captivating than the last. A framed social worker license hung from the wall behind her desk. A plaque by the door proudly declared the room to be a paraphile-friendly space. Various MAP-pride posters with catchy slogans dotted the walls. A teenage wolf ripping duct tape from his mouth, "BREAK THE SILENCE"; a silhouette of an adult and child walking paw in paw at a park, "LOVE IS LOVE"; a young boy smiling at the camera, his paws together in the shape of a heart, "YOU CAN'T FIX SOMETHING THAT ISN'T BROKEN." It was only after several minutes of waiting for the meeting to begin that I realized my caseworker had fallen completely silent, her uneasy gaze shifting between myself and the plush on the floor.

"...is that a taxidermied dead dog you brought with you?" she asked.

"Why yes it is!", I answered matter-of-factly.

She hesitated a moment. "Okay...but why?"

"Well, he's my best friend! I love him very much!"

"That's...very...interesting. Um..." She seemed to struggle to put her thoughts into words. "...was he yours?"

"Actually he was adopted! I tried for years but I've been unable to conceive a dog naturally!"

She nodded slowly. She struck me as somewhat shy, a bit fearful perhaps--which I chalked up to initial nervousness at meeting a new person. I decided to put her mind at ease.

"Hi, I'm Tom!" I exclaimed, springing out of my seat and throwing my paw in her face with a big, friendly grin. She recoiled slightly, her eyes widening, and did not shake my hand. After a moment, I awkwardly dropped my paw but continued to stand there, making sure to maintain continuous eye contact with a toothy smile to indicate my lack of ill intent.

"...my name is Kauntis. Kauntis Conigliaro," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Kantiz Kongrioo!"

"Ahem, actually it's Kauntis Conigliaro," she corrected graciously. "An old lagomorph name..."

"Katik Conigilione!"

"...n-no," she corrected again. "Kauntis Conigliaro."

My smile faltered. "C-Cantiz Coneglaro?"

She shook her head.

"Cactik Congeglro?"

"No."

"Cakik Cagaro?"

"That's not it either."

"Cactus Kokkagaro?"

She frowned. "Say it with me now: Kaunt-is Con-ig-li-aro."

"Ah!" I proclaimed confidently. "Contiz Confringo!"

There was a sudden whiff of ozone. The lights in the room grew dim, replaced by an eerie Latin chanting that swelled into a crescendo as a pen on her desk began to levitate and gently twirl with an unearthly glow.

"No!" she said, pulling it back down again. "It's—ugh, forget it. You can just call me 'Kaunt'."

I nodded. "Kunt."

She hesitated. "It-it's Kaunt..."

"K-AU-N-T," I said, making sure to fully enunciate each syllable. "Pleasure to meet you, Kaunt!" I jutted my paw out again expectantly. My caseworker glanced from me to my paw and back to me again.

"You can take a seat now, Tom."

I settled back into my chair, careful to maintain my pristine smile and avoid unnecessary blinking.

"Well then..." my caseworker said as she nodded to her computer monitor. "It looks like you've been on the waitlist for some time now..."

"Eight years and seven months!" I chirped.

"Eight years..." she raised an eyebrow. "That is a while..."

"And seven months!" I quickly added, rubbing my nose with a sniff.

"Well you're here now, and we are...so, so glad to have you." She flashed a polite smile. "I am your case manager here at Cub Club. That means I'll be the primary liaison between you, your matches, and the organization as a whole. The meeting we're having right now is what's known as an 'initial consultation'. Any adult-attracted minors you've been matched with will have already received similar briefings. Typically how this works is we first go over your case together, ensuring your profile is accurate and up to date. Then we'll go over your preliminary matches one by one. I'll get you acquainted with their profiles, answering any questions or concerns you might have. Finally, if we agree that one of your matches is a particularly good fit, I can arrange an introductory meeting between you, myself, your match, and their family. If that goes well, additional engagements can be scheduled at times and places we deem appropriate. How does that sound to you?"

"Great!" I nodded enthusiastically

"Great..." she agreed, a little less enthusiastic. "Now, before we begin did you have any questions?"

"Yeah!" I said. "When do I get assigned a child to have sex with?"

She laughed, which was odd because I hadn't said anything funny. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Tom..."

"Afraid?" I asked, alarmed. "Why are you afraid? Is there something to be afraid of?!"

Her chuckling faded as her tail flicked with unease. She scooted forward, paws fidgeting as she clasped them together on her desk. "You know, Tom, I think you might have gotten the wrong impression about what we do here... That's not surprising, Cub Club is still in its infancy after all. This program is a trial initiative designed to collect data before we expand to other major cities."

I nodded, pretending to know what she was talking about.

"Cub Club is often criticized on the grounds that children cannot provide informed consent. But a minor's informed assent is at the core of what we do here. Our charter allows us to partially emancipate minors who enroll in our program, providing exceptions to the age of consent on a limited basis, if we've determined that doing so is in the minor's best interests. Now, I trust you've gone through the orientation handbook--"

"Orientation handbook?" I asked innocently.

"Yes, the one that was referenced in your enrollment email? The PDF attachment? It was mandatory..."

"Oh right, of course, that handbook! Yes! Absolutely! Cover to cover!" There were attachments?

"Good..." her ears tilted slightly. "Then you're aware that the majority of our matches never progress to sexual contact. You see, Tom, it's best to imagine our program as a form of modern, supervised pederasty. Think of it like Big Brother, Big Sister for MAPs. We cultivate healthy interpersonal relationships between minor attracted persons and adult attracted minors in a way that respects the dignity and well-being of both parties. Obviously, our primary concern is with the minors, and we aim to ensure that their experience here always remains a positive one. We pride ourselves on supporting cubs through what is often a turbulent time in their lives, fostering their development from vulnerable and inexperienced children to flourishing, confident young adults." She waited, looking pleased with herself.

"Cool!" I said.

"Of course, sexual encounters can and do happen in our program, nobody is hiding that. We see sexuality not as something to be hidden or ashamed of, but as a normal, natural part of life that children should be given an age-appropriate outlet for exploring. We give cubs the training and tools they need to navigate their fledgling sexuality at their own pace in a safe and nurturing environment. Naturally, that means providing a partner--sorry, am I boring you?"

I had been nodding periodically to show I was following along but out of the corner of my eye, I couldn't help but notice a damp spot slowly forming underneath Rusty. Not wanting to ruin my shot by blemishing her spotless carpet, I stretched out my arms with a yawn, casually reaching down to pick up the dribbling plush, flipping him upside down as I hugged him to my chest.

"Not at all," I assured her. "I'm incredibly attentive right now!"

She frowned before continuing. "If both parties do wish to become intimate, we follow a strict protocol with safeguards in place to prevent exploitation or abuse. Your enrollment in this program is contingent first and foremost on the assent of your match, as well as the approval of myself, your match's legal guardians, and at least two independent mental health professionals. We each hold veto power; any one of us can unilaterally terminate your interactions at any time. And of course, the impact of your relationship will be subject to mandatory periodic evaluations--"

She was droning on and on, and I was doing my best to keep up, but my euphoria was already tapering off, and I had started to zone out a little. Her lips were moving, and I could hear the words, but my brain wasn't really processing them. As I pretended to listen, absentmindedly chewing on Rusty's tail, it occurred to me that there was no real reason for her to try to justify the program like this. I mean, it wasn't like I was the one who needed convincing. My gaze shifted to the window behind her desk and the swarming mob of protesters below.

I can't tell you how many times I've had to listen to the same patronizing lectures riddled with the same thought-stopping truisms that children cannot consent to sexual activity, that any appearance of consent is necessarily the byproduct of coercion or confusion, and that I am a horrible person for enabling this abuse. Thankfully the doctors recently upped my risperidone so the voices don't tend to tell me these things anymore.

"Is...everything okay?" my caseworker asked, her concerned gaze following the trickle of blood that had evidently started running down my nostrils.

"Oh yeah!" I said with a sniff. "Absolutely! One-hundred-percent! So when do I get assigned a child to have sex with?"

"...you did hear what I just said, didn't you Tom? You will be supervised at all times, every interaction you ever have with your match will be recorded. Even when you two go off on your own together you will be forced to wear a lapel cam--the footage of which will be periodically scrubbed by our review team. Any sexual encounters, assuming they do receive prior approval, will also need to be recorded and must always be initiated by the minor. You won't even be allowed to touch them without permission. If you ever violate any of these rules, or the review team begins to notice unhealthy relationship dynamics, or I pick up on even a whiff of duress or abuse--"

"Yeah, yeah, I've done porn before," I said. "So when do I get assigned a child to have sex with?"

"...let's just start with your profile review." My caseworker turned to her monitor. "Tom Hazlitt--" she began.

"Yes?"

She tilted her head at me before continuing.

"Tom Hazlitt.
Age: 31.
Species: Skunk-Fox Hybrid.
Sex--"

"Yes please!" I said. She glared at me.

"...sex: Male.
Preferred Match Gender: Male.
Preferred Match Age Range: Five to Fourteen.
...is this information correct?"

"Yes! Correctly correct!"

"Okay... Now, Tom, I'd like to go over some gaps I've noticed in your profile. It's important to make sure nothing is missing." She began to flick her scroll wheel which I found vaguely erotic for some reason.

"First off, your education. It says here you were enrolled at Foxford University..." She glanced back at me with mild admiration. "That's very prestigious..."

"Yes, I was!" I beamed. "I majored in Computer Science with a minor in Childhood Anatomy!"

"Uh-huh. And what year did you graduate?"

"Oh, I uh...never graduated..."

She began tapping on her keyboard, murmuring absentmindedly as she amended her notes. "...post-secondary...education...incomplete..."

"Alright Tom, now I'd like to confirm your medical history, and I want to make it clear that we're willing to make any special accommodations you might need. I see here you were diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Can you tell me more about how that has impacted you?"

"Actually, I'd like to refute that diagnosis!" I said, pulling Rusty in close. "It was made when I was still a child, and I'm fairly certain I've outgrown it. I mean obviously, I never outgrew it because it was never there to begin with--although I can see why someone might have mistaken me for autistic as a child--which of course they wouldn't do today--because I'm not...besides, who isn't on the spectrum really? That's why they call it a 'spectrum' after all! Haha! I mean, let's face it, autism is basically the new ADHD... Anyway, I think most people would agree that I'm fairly neurotypical."

Once again my caseworker's fingers danced across the keyboard. "...claims...to be...neurotypical..."

"Now, as to your employment history...it's completely blank. Am I to understand that you've been jobless these past eight years?"

"Not at all! Actually, I'm a freelance writer. I make a living writing stories for commission on the Internet. I'm really quite good!"

She looked unimpressed. "I see. And have you been published yet?"

"Um, well no. I mean, not 'physically' at least..."

She rolled her eyes as she continued amending her notes. "...employment...status...unemployed..."

"Alright, lastly a quick glance over your criminal background history..." Her eyes darted across the screen before widening with shock. "...registered sex offender?"

"Wait, I can explain!"

"Sir, that's an immediate disqualification from the program--"

"No, no, that's--" I chuckled nervously, "--that's well--you see it was all just a big misunderstanding! Hahahaha..." I pointed both paws back to her monitor. "I've already cleared it up, I'm sure your notes will say so!"

She surveyed me suspiciously before squinting back at her screen. "Oh yes...it says here you won your appeal after the state's witness failed to testify due to that catastrophic skydiving accident..."

"Such a tragedy..." I agreed somberly.

"Tom..." she turned back to me. "Was there anything I haven't mentioned that you would like added to your case file?"

"Not that I can think of."

"You don't have anything else to include? Any added training, education, or special skills?"

"Nope."

"Any additional employment, charity, or volunteer history? Especially if it involves working with children?"

"Nada."

"Do you have any commendations or awards? Or at least witnesses to your character? A recommendation perhaps? Either personal or professional from coworkers, family, or friends?"

I thought about it for a moment. "No, no I don't believe so..."

"Okay..." My caseworker paused a moment, studying me. "...huh," she said finally.

"Huh?" I asked hopefully.

"Huh," she repeated.

"Is 'huh' good?"

"No, Tom, 'huh' means 'huh'." Her fingers tapped against the table. "Tom, may I be frank with you?"

I confessed that I was somewhat surprised by the abruptness of her admission but added that I had plenty of transgendered friends and I fully respected her lifestyle decision. She stared back at me, cold.

"Tom, your profile leaves much to be desired," she said.

"Really? I thought it was pretty good..."

"Yes, really. In fact, this is quite possibly the least remarkable profile I have ever come across. Honestly, I'm not sure how you even made it onto the waitlist..."

I tried to smile but couldn't quite get my muscles to cooperate. "...I thought you said I had a potential...?"

My case worker sighed as she sunk back into her chair. "Yes, I suppose I did... One potential match." She started typing again, and my gaze shifted to her monitor.

"...just one?"

She cast a venomous glance my way. "Do we owe you more?" It sounded like a threat.

"No, no! It's just I was...expecting a few others..."

"You are only authorized to review the profiles of potential matches that have already approved you first. Can I assume you've downloaded the mobile app at least?"

"Oh right!" I fished out my phone.

Participants in Cub Club use a chat application to interact with their matches in a monitored environment. You can send text messages, forward photos, and review profiles. It was sort of like Tinder but for pedophiles. They called it 'Kinder'. I downloaded it the day I signed up for the waitlist and for the past eight and a half years it had been sitting on my home screen, silently taunting me. To my delight when I opened the app it auto-registered my phone number and signed me in automatically.

"Holy shit!"

My caseworker watched with her chin in her paw. "Mmm-hmm..."

A single match notification presented itself. My fingers trembled as they hovered over the screen. My arms were trembling too. Really my whole body was shaking--it was probably all the coke--but eventually, I managed to press the new notification icon, taking me to my match's page. And then...nothing.

"Um..." I tapped on the refresh button a couple of times. "I think it's broken. Nothing's loading..."

"No, I think it's all loaded correctly." my caseworker said.

"What?" I began to flick through the profile. Interests, biography, timeline--nothing was filled out. The only information available was the name, age, species, and gender--all mandatory fields.

Name: Waffles Squadron
Age: 13
Species: Fox
Gender: Male

And at the top of the page, a single grainy thumbnail of a boy's face. I squinted at the screen. "Why does his name say 'Waffles'?"

"That's his name."

"His name is 'Waffles'?"

I clicked the profile picture but the blown-up image wasn't much better. Grainy and badly lit, it looked like it was taken with an early 2000s cellphone. The boy wore a hoodie that hid most of his features. Behind the darkened complexion was an aura of discomfort, like he didn't want his photo taken to begin with. He hadn't even bothered looking at the camera...

I scratched my ears. "So, uh, do you have anyone maybe a little bit younger?"

"This is your only match." my caseworker replied. She seemed displeased by the question.

"Okay, okay! I can work with this... So uh, when do I get to meet him?"

"Actually that's something I wanted to talk to you about..." My caseworker paused, choosing her words carefully. "This boy is a...special case. One who has a somewhat troubled history in our program. He recently rejected his last long-term match and is currently searching for a new fit."

"Sounds perfect." I was intrigued.

"...normally we prefer to stick to our main pool when it comes to finding adult candidates. We prefer applicants with an extensive, well-reviewed history in the program, or newcomers who already have an established background working with children. However, occasionally we exhaust our main pool and are forced to broaden our scope to include waitlisted candidates like yourself. For Waffles in particular we are looking for a partner who is even-tempered, empathetic, and most important of all: patient." She lowered her gaze. "Tom, can you please take your paw out of your pants?"

"Sorry..." I said, zipping up my fly.

"...as I was saying, Waffles is a special case who has special needs." She seemed to place particular emphasis on that last part.

"Special needs?"

"Special needs, Tom." She gave me a look.

"Ah. Special needs." My caseworker nodded. So that's what this was all about... I coughed and leaned in, lowering my voice respectfully. "You mean, uh...you mean like he's really into scat or something...?"

My caseworker looked like something vulnerable and precious had died deep within her. "No, Tom--"

"'Cause you know I'm willing to try anything..."

"Waffles has an intellectual disability," she stated bluntly.

"Intellectual disability?" I blinked, the gears in my head slowly turning. "Intellectual disability... Intellectual disability..." Then all at once it hit me.

"HE'S RETARDED?!"

Her whiskers twitched. "The modern term is intellectually disabled--"

"YOU'RE PAIRING ME WITH A RETARDED KID?!"

"'Intellectually disabled', Tom, please. A few years ago Waffles was involved in a car crash that left him with a traumatic brain injury he may never fully recover from. Currently, he has difficulties with reading, speaking, and processing information, as well as trouble with memory and emotional regulation."

"What the fuck?! That's not sexy! That's...sad!"

My caseworker looked confused. "Why would brain damage be sexy, Tom?"

I shook my head. "This is all wrong! Where are we even going with this?! Like...I mean, w-well what kind of retard is he? Are we talking Rain Man retarded or Forrest Gump retarded or Slingblade retarded or...?"

My caseworker glared at me with that familiar look of contempt I had long associated with authority figures throughout my life. Finally, she acquiesced with a shrug. "Slingblade retarded."

"Oh...Jesus!"

"...is that going to be a problem?" Her claws scraped silently against the wood.

"A problem? No! No problem at all! Everything's fine, everything's...really, totally fine..." I shifted in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs repeatedly. "It's just--well I wonder if this is really the optimal match, you know what I mean?"

My caseworker stared at me, her expression a blank test pattern of a face. "No, Tom, I really don't think I do..."

I scratched the back of my head. "Listen, Vera--"

"--Who?"

"Sorry, it's just you keep reminding me of someone else... Listen, Waffles seems like a sweet boy, right? One of the best! I mean by all accounts a perfectly...stand up young man. It's just, well, you see when I signed up for this program I was under the impression that I would be assigned a child slightly less retarded than that."

"So I take it you're rejecting the match, then?" My caseworker's face was now half-covered by her paw.

I pretended to give it some thought. "Yeah, you know, let's go with that..."

"Well I'm sorry to hear that," she said, but she sounded relieved. She stood up and so did I. "I'll let his family know you've chosen to reject the match. Thank you for your time, Tom. I'll be sure to keep you informed of any additional matches that come your way."

"No, thank you!" I said, offering my paw. She looked at it a moment before hesitantly accepting the handshake.

"It was very nice to meet you," she said with a strained and cheerless smile.

"Likewise!" I added, continuing to shake her paw. "So...what happens now?"

"Now you go back on the waitlist," she said.

"But I thought I was already enrolled in the program--"

"Technically, you're what's known as an 'associate member'. You were temporarily placed in the main pool just for this particular match, now that we've determined it wasn't a good fit you'll be placed back on the waitlist again."

"Oh..."

She looked down at our mutually shaking paws. "...was there anything else?"

"Yeah! How long will I be on the waitlist?"

"There's no telling how long until you are transferred to the main pool. Could be tomorrow. Could be a week from now. Could be another year. It all depends on supply and demand."

"Right, but I've been waiting a really long time now--"

"Tom..." She paused. "Cub Club is a very competitive program. There is a thirteen-to-one imbalance between adult and minor participants. People from all over the world flock to this city to participate. Typically only our most qualified waitlist candidates eventually get accepted into the main pool. Professionals with extensive experience in child development and care. Social workers, educators, child psychologists..."

"Yeah, so what's the hold-up?"

"Well, obviously we judge each match on a case-by-case basis... However, every adult participant has an internal ranking based on their qualifications. The higher your ranking, the more likely you are to eventually get placed in the main pool and find a match." She started pulling her paw away. "I think our session has come to an end--"

"What about my ranking? Can I see it?"

"No, Tom, that's why I called it internal..."

"Oh come on! I mean, it'd be a really big favor to me!" our handshake had become a tug of war.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "If I tell you your ranking will you please stop shaking my hand and exit the premises immediately?

"Sure!", I said, "I'll be out of your fur in a minute, promise!" I let go and she fell backwards into her chair. She scowled for a moment before turning to her monitor. She typed and clicked her mouse.

"There are thirty-two thousand, nine hundred and thirty-five applicants currently on the waitlist," she said.

"Great! So where do I rank?"

She clicked again. "Thirty-two thousand, nine hundred and thirty-fifth."

Outro
Don't start smoking kids. And whatever you do don't stop smoking. Nicotine withdrawal has been kicking my ass for about a week now. The physical symptoms and general irritability I can deal with, but the low mood? I'm the kind of person who gets incredibly fucked up the moment they fall out of homeostasis. Amazing how a few days of transient depression can completely distort your worldview. Suddenly it feels like everything is collapsing around you. Every time I try to work on Tom Fucks I feel like I'm just fucking it up.

Needless to say, I haven't felt very productive lately. I want to apologize for that, especially when I continue to get so much positive feedback on the story. A day ago I opened up Light Chat to the public and I've already gotten a bunch of new members. It's a bit overwhelming in fact.  But I appreciate it. I appreciate it more than you guys know.

I'm not very satisfied with this chapter. After finishing what I thought was the final draft I realized that it was missing an essential 'charm' that the previous chapters had. It was too abstract, not funny enough, and didn't delve deeply enough into Tom's internal mental state. Unfortunately, the chapter was already 6.8K words before any rewrites, not to mention incredibly dialogue-heavy. This is ostensibly a comedy, isn't it? Pacing matters.

That's why I've made the difficult decision to split chapter three into two chapters at the halfway mark. Yes, I know cliffhangers suck, and yes, I know the abrupt ending is kind of awkward--and yes, it kills me every time I read it. And that's ignoring the other identifiable flaws I've found in the current revision. But honestly, at this point, I think I really just need to put the fucking thing out there. Hopefully, by the time most readers come across this chapter, the fourth chapter will already be published and they can immediately jump forward. I always intended to go over all the chapters after I finish the story, bringing each one up to a level of quality you as the reader deserve. Consider this a rough draft.

It's late and my head fucking hurts and my roommate keeps pressuring me into playing Baldur's Gate 3 with him and I don't know how to finish this paragraph. So if you've read this far, I'll just say thank you and I hope I can continue to entertain you with this story.

// YOU ARE NOT VALID
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