The Sleepover, Part 1

The invitation came from out of the blue, it seemed.  
“Hey, Johnny, the 'rents are gonna be out of town for the weekend.  They said I could have a friend over.  Wanna come over, play some video games, watch some TV, maybe go to baseball practice with me, just hang out?”
I'd known Jason a long time.  We lived just a few blocks apart.  We'd gone to elementary school together, been on the same Little League team (he much more successfully than I).  We had gone to junior high at the same school, but because of the growth of the town, we had gone to two different schools for ninth and tenth grade.  Now that we were juniors, we were again at the same school.
But we weren't what you'd call “close friends.”  We enjoyed talking to each other, we'd visited at each other's homes, but Jason was more of a “jock,” spending a lot of his time practicing with the school's baseball team.  He looked to be a coming star.  He was over 6 feet tall, and well-built.  I just barely passed PE, it seemed.  Five feet, nine inches, so about average height. No real skills at any sport, just barely competent enough to not be the last guy chosen for a team.
So I was a little surprised by the invitation.  I knew my parents well enough to know they wouldn't have a problem with it.  They didn't have a problem with much of anything I did.  They were quite lenient, and I was just naturally a good kid.  I didn't get in trouble, and they let me do what I wanted to.
My parents didn't even have a problem with me being friends with “the others.”  By that, of course, I mean they didn't mind “pure humans” or “feline hybrids.”
Oh, I guess I forgot to mention that we're “canine hybrids,”  didn't I?
Of course, you know all about the “Great Miscegenation.”  (That's a neat word, isn't it?  It used to mean something different.  Look it up.)  Along about 1950, babies started being born with “expressed non-human genes.”  No one knows why, although some scientists pointed to nuclear weapons testing.  Christian fundamentalists called it “God's judgment for the general coarsening of society.”  A few medical researchers thought that maybe, just possibly, it was the result of flu epidemics that had passed through various animal species before migrating to humans, and carried along some of those non-human genes.  And a few people just thought humans had had cats and dogs in their homes so long that some unknown mechanisms or diseases (toxoplasmosis, for example) had slowly transferred enough non-human genes into humans that they were able to actually modify humans.  But it happened all over the world simultaneously, so it was still a mystery.  
At first, the genetics were all over the place, with some humans just barely modified, and some so modified they were almost not human at all.  Eventually, natural selection set in and the hybrids maintained a human form, but with fur, ears, some facial features, some hand and foot adaptations, and fairly normal reproductive organs.  Yeah, that penile sheath, so popular in furrydom before the GM, turned out to be pretty impractical for erect bipeds.  Oh, and tails.  No matter how cute they look in furry comics, they just don't work for mobile, erect hominids in crowds, going through doors, getting in and out of cars, and all that.  If you've ever seen a cat with a degloved tail, you'll know what I'm talking about.  The one caveat in all this was that the humans, feline hybrids, and canine hybrids could not interbreed.  By the time I was born, four generations into the change, about 1/3 of the population belonged to each group.  And yes, not surprisingly, there was some friction.  It was dying down, but since the groups didn't interbreed (although they did occasionally intermarry), there would never be a homogenization of society.
“Sure,” I replied to Jason...who just happens to be a feline hybrid.  “When do you want me to come over?”
“The folks are already gone on their business trip.  Bring your stuff to school on Friday, and we'll have Chrissy pick us up on her way from from the college.”
Chrissy was Jason's older sister.  She attended a local university.  She had been a big star on the high school track team, and she had had scholarship offers to some big universities all over the place, but she accepted one at the university located just outside of town.  Just as good an education, just as good a scholarship, and lots less in living costs.  I hadn't seen her in a couple of years.  I remembered her as a pretty, pony-tailed presence on the edges of my budding conciousness of girls, as I was starting junior high. 
The next day was Friday.  I brought an overnight bag with my few essentials, a good book (I like Asimov), and not much else to school.  The day went pretty typically, and after school, we were standing in the school loading zone, waiting for Chrissy.
After about 10 minutes of waiting, Chrissy drove up in her red Toyota.  Jason threw his backpack in the back seat and then got in the front.  I threw my backpack and overnight bag in the back seat and climbed in.
Chrissy said hi to Jason, then turned and smiled at me.  “Ready for a weekend full of adventure?  Video games?  Pizza?” she asked.
“Well, as exciting as any of those are, I'm ready for it,” I replied.  Chrissy had always been a sunny tease, and her ready smile and quick wit made her great fun.  She turned back to her driving, maneuvered out of the school driveway, and headed for home.
I could have guessed the two were related, even without knowing it.  Jason had mostly white fur, with the occasional black spot.  Chrissy was entirely white, except for one black ear.  They were both athletically built; Jason could outrun most of the kids in the class, and he could throw a baseball from the centerfield wall to home plate.  Chrissy was lithe, but not thin.  Jason was wearing a T shirt, and he filled it out very well.  Chrissy had on a running shirt, with wide shoulder straps instead of sleeves.  The right sleeve was slipping down over her shoulder, revealing a slender strap to what I assumed would be a sports bra.  After the exertion of PE and probably a training run, the two of them also smelled similar; a little musky, a little sweaty, a little wet.  Hey, people still talk about the famous “wet dog” smell we canines give off.  “Wet cat” is much the same.
In just a few minutes, we pulled up in front of their house.  Jason and I grabbed our stuff and went inside, while Chrissy parked her car in the garage.  
Their house was a little unusual.  Her parents lived on the main floor, where there was a kitchen, dining room, three bedrooms, etc.  Jason and Chrissy lived in a fully finished basement.  It had been a while since I had been down there, so they showed me around, first of all.  There was a living room/den with a couch, chairs, TV, game system, etc.  They had their own kitchen and eating area.  There were three bedrooms.  Jason had his own bedroom, with its own bathroom.  There were two more bedrooms with a shared bathroom between them.  “Jack and Jill rooms” is the term I have heard applied to this type of arrangement.  One of those bedrooms was Chrissy's.  The other had formerly been her two-year-older sister's room.  That sister, Sassy, was away at college.
(Note:  Sassy's name was actually Sassinak.  Apparently Jason's mother was an Anne McCaffrey fan.)  
I would have to sleep in Sassy's room.  There wasn't an extra bed in Jason's room, or even a pull-out couch or anything. Not a big deal, except I would have to share the bathroom with Chrissy.  
Speaking of Chrissy, she came down the stairs and threw her keys on the kitchen counter.  
“I don't feel like cooking, and Mom and Dad left me money for pizza.  That OK with you guys?”
“Heck, yeah,” said Jason.  
“Fine with me,” I chimed in.  
“The usual flavors?” she asked.
“Beef and cheese for me,” I suggested.
“Yeah, that's kind of what we usually get.  Speak up if there's something you really don't like.”
“Nah, I'm not a fussy eater at all.”  It made life a lot easier for my mom!
Chrissy pulled out her phone and texted an order to the Pizza House.  It was interesting to note that next to Jason, she was really short.  Her head was about halfway up his chest.  Probably not even up to my chin.  About 5 feet, at maximum.
“So, what kind of games do you like?” asked Chrissy.  “I guess we have all the usual video games.  Plus, we have some old fashioned party games.”
“Eh, not a fan of most video games.  The RPG's just don't do it for me.  At home, I play Flight Simulator, but it's not really a competitive thing.  What kind of old games have you got?”  Truth be told, I'm not much of a competitor at any game.  Maybe that's why I suck at sports.
“Let me look over here in this cabinet.”  Jason got up and went over to some book shelves on one wall.  “We have...Rook, which is a card game.  We have Monopoly, the old standby that no one has ever finished.  Clue.  Colonel Mustard, in the basement, with the doorknob.  Here's Twister.  Do people still play that?”
The doorbell rang, and Chrissy went up the stairs.  In a few moments, she came back down with a couple of pizza boxes.
“Dinner!” she sang out.
Much chewing and swallowing ensued, with very little conversation.  
When the munching slowed to next to nothing, Chrissy and Jason both said they needed to get a shower before they played any games.  That left me to my book for half an hour or so.  “Tales of the Black Widowers,” one of my favorite Asimov series.  I was on the second story, “Ph as in Phony.”  
About a half hour later, Jason exited his bedroom.  Chrissy came out of hers a few minutes later.  They had both changed to shorts and a crop top.  OK, I guess Jason's was actually a muscle shirt.  Chrissy's shorts were the really short runner's type.  Jason's were longer, as the style now is for basketball players.
“So, have we found a game we want to play?”  Chrissy asked.
“Let's not mess with anything too serious.  When was the last time we played 'Operation?'”  Jason asked.
“OK,” was Chrissy's reply, as she headed over to the bookshelves.  It only took her a few moments to find the game, and she brought it to the table.  Jason removed the remains of our pizza feast.
Chrissy set up the game.  Let's admit it.  This is a game aimed at 10-year-olds..  The idea is to “cure” a patient by removing parts from him, while removing money from his wallet.  It's more a game of luck and manual dexterity than anything else.  But we were just playing games anyway, right?
We quickly discovered Chrissy had the steadiest hands, but I had the best luck in drawing operation cards.  Ultimately she won.
One thing I did enjoy during the game was sitting across the table from Chrissy.  I found that when she leaned over to “operate” on the patient, her crop top fell open a little at the top each time.  Guess what?  She didn't have a bra on.  I had thought that might be the case, because I thought I saw nipples under the fabric, and there was some interesting movement in there when she moved around.
“Another round?” asked Jason.  
Of course, I was all for it.  Maybe I would get to see my first real bare kitten nipple, if I was lucky.  But neither of them were enthusiastic.
“How about something more active?  We've been just sitting for too long!”  suggested Jason.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Chrissy.
“How about we get out that old 'Twister' game?  Haven't played that in years.”
“Well, if the plastic sheet hasn't fallen apart, and we haven't lost anything else out of the box, I guess we can try it.”  She sounded a little doubtful.
Jason took the Operation game back over to bookcase, and after a few minutes, he dug a larger box out of some disorganized stuff in one cubicle of the shelf.  He brought it back over to the table.
Chrissy pulled the cover off, and stared into the box.  
“Man, I can't remember even how this works.”  She didn't look happy.
“Well, there should be a spinner with four squares, and a big plastic sheet with colored spots on it.”  
“Yeah, that's all here,” she said.  
She pulled the spinner out of the box and and threw it on the couch.  She pulled out the plastic sheet, shook it out, and laid it out on the living room carpet.  It had four rows of colored dots, each dot a little less than a foot in diameter.  Each row had six dots of the same color:  red, blue, yellow, and green.  Chrissy picked up the rule sheet and reviewed it quickly.
“OK,” Jason said, “the game usually requires two players.  One player starts at each end of the mat, with a foot on the blue dot and one on the yellow dot.  We spin the spinner, and call out the required move.  It will give a body part (a hand or a foot), and a color.  You have to quickly put that body part on the required color.  Only one body part on each dot.  If you already have a  body part on the closest dot, you have to go to the next one.  Being unable to reach a dot, falling over, or touching the mat with anything but your hand or foot loses you the game.  Oh, and no shoes.  Ready?”
“So why do I have to play, and not you?” I asked Jason.
“Because this game is no fun with a sister or brother,” he replied simply and honestly.
So I took off my shoes.  Chrissy was already in bare feet.  We took our places at each end of the mat.
Jason spun the pointer on the spinner card.
“Ladies first,” he said.  “Chrissy, right hand to red.”
Chrissy had the red dots on her left side.  She put her right hand on the third dot from her end.
“OK, now Johnny.”  He spun.  “Johnny, left foot yellow.”
My left foot was already on a yellow, so I had to move it.  I went to the second dot in the yellow row.  I figure that would leave me more options later.  I looked down at Chrissy; the view was pretty nice.  I know those butt muscles are from running, but they look like they might...
“Chrissy, left foot green.”
She had to pick up here left foot, twist around, move it under her right leg, in order to get it on a green spot.  
“Johnny, right hand red.”
That was another easy one.  I just bent over and put my right hand on the third red dot.  Of course, Chrissy's right hand was on the next red dot, so my face was very close to her left shoulder.  She smelled good.  Soap?  Cologne?  A little like roses.  A hint of cinnamon?
“Chrissy, right foot red.”
That wasn't too bad a move.  She just moved her right foot two spots to the right.  It moved her head a little closer to mine.  I noticed she had beautiful green eyes.  I also noticed she had nipples sticking up against her fairly thin shirt.  
Luckily, I was leaning over and (I hoped) she couldn't see the effect the view was having on me.
“Johnny, right hand green.”
Now that was tough.  It put both my feet and my right hand in a straight line, which made for tough balancing.
“Chrissy, left hand green.”
She really could only reasonably reach the green spot next to my hand.
'Johnny, left hand blue.”
I tried.  I really tried.  But that crossed my arms, and I just couldn't hold it.  I fell over, upsetting Chrissy, and we ended up in a pile.  No, that didn't bother me much.  Being entangled with her was more like a reward than a punishment.  
Once we were all disentangled, we just sat there for a minute or two, laughing.
“Shall we go again?” asked Jason.
“Nah, I don't think I could ever win against Chrissy.  She's too coordinated, and I'm too un.”
“Shall we watch TV?  It's about time for Letterman.”  Chrissy, the college student, probably liked that sort of thing.  I was just beginning to catch on to it.  I was a good student, and I read a lot, so I was getting more and more of the humor.  I rarely attended movies, so a lot of the “star” discussion went over my head.
So we settled in to watch, for a while.  It was getting late, and I tended to be an early-to-bed kind of guy, so I was getting a little sleepy.  Jason sprawled on one end of the couch, and Chrissy was toward the left end, so I sat in the easy chair.  Chrissy pulled up her right foot under her left knee, and when I glanced over there, I realized with a shock that I could see up the leg of her shorts.  I saw what appeared to be some sort of slick black underwear.  Maybe silk?  A real contrast to her white fur.  I quickly looked back at the TV before she could catch me staring, but I found my glance wandering back there, more and more.  
And each glance made me feel a little more...uh, well, to quote Beetlejuice...”anxious.”  I hoped Chrissy couldn't see the signs of my discomfort.  However, she seemed oblivious, caught up in the antics of David Letterman and his guests.  On one of my regular sneaked peaks at the “gates of Paradise,” however, I did notice her looking at me, too, with a wry smile on her face.  She liked teasing; could this be more of it?
In any case, if this kept up, I would need to go and “relieve the pressure,” soon.  However, the thought of doing it with Chrissy in the next bedroom, separated by just a door, was a little daunting.
The show soon ended, and Jason stood up, stretching and yawning, as Chrissy turned off the TV.  She put the remote back on the coffee table in front of the couch, and got up, too.
“It's late, and I have practice in the morning,” said Jason, through a yawn.  “I'm going to bed.”
“I've been falling asleep for the last half hour, too,” I lied.  “Show me where to go.”
Jason led me to the middle bedroom.  
“You can lock the bathroom door from either side,” he explained. “If you're in there and don't want to be disturbed, lock the other door.  If you're in your bedroom and don't want to be disturbed, lock the door.  I'm sure Chrissy will do the same.  If you try the door and it's locked, just wait a few minutes.  Chrissy isn't a bathroom hog.”
I went back out into the living area and got my backpack and overnight bag.  I brought them into the bedroom and set them on a chair in the corner.  Being a little shy, I figured I'd brush my teeth, etc., before I change into nightclothes. 
The door into the bathroom was unlocked.  I took my “shaving bag” and laid them on the counter.  I locked the other door, turned on the water, lifted the toilet lid and seat and peed.  Fortunately, I guess, my mother had stressed the importance of toilet seat etiquette when women share the bathroom.  At least I would look like a “chauvinist male pig.”
I brushed my teeth, washed my face (using the towel on “my” end of the counter), turned off the light, went into the bedroom, and locked the bathroom door.   I quickly changed into my sleeping shorts, got in the bed, turned off the lamp, and worked on relaxing.  I ran the evening back through my mind.  Fun, in a mild way.  Titillating, in a fun way.  Puzzling, in several ways.
Sometime in the night, I woke up, needing to pee.  I've always had that problem; I never sleep through the night without a bathroom run.  I got up, unlocked the door, and tried it.  It opened.  The lights were off, but there was a nightlight, letting me see just fine to do what I needed to.  I finished up, flushed, turned, and went back to my room, getting back in bed.
Wait.  Was that a crack of light I had seen at the bathroom door?  I quietly got up to check.
I opened my bathroom door, quietly.  Across the room, I did, indeed, see a crach of light.  And a green eye in the crack.
I turned to check my door, and when I turned back, the eye was gone.  But the light was on in Chrissy's room.  I crept closer and peeked through.
Chrissy was on her bed, on her knees, completely naked.  And she was wiggling her naked behind at me.  I could clearly see her genital slit.  She turned her beautiful face, with those green eyes, toward me and smiled.
I crossed the space to the bed in just a couple of quick steps, pulling my penis out of my shorts at the same time.  It was already huge, throbbing.  I grabbed Chrissy's hips and thrust myself deep into the opening.
But it didn't feel anything like I'd been led to expect.  Rather than warm, restrictive, slippery depths, it felt rather cool, almost as if it was exposed in open air, as it would be when I stimulated it.
Suddenly, Chrissy whirled, hissing and spitting, and leapt at me with claws bared.  She knocked me to the floor, landing on top of me! Her hisses came at my bared face and exposed ears!