Beginnings are always awkward, at least for me. Mostly 'cause I have no idea where to start, leading me to fucking up more often than naught. Especially considering what I am trying to talk about. You won't believe me, or perhaps you might. People do strange things, things they never would expected they would do. Take myself for example; the poster husky for our town: silent, kind, straight (well as straight as you can be in this town), bartender in Tailton's hottest club. We're a small town, close to the local hot springs, right on the edge of the forest, with many great hiking routes starting right outside of town, and close enough to the mountains to be considered a 'ski-resort' in the winter. Not that we have much else going on for us. We have the club, many luxurious hotels, with their own fancysmanshy bars, several cafés and many, many (and I mean MANY) gift shops scattered around town, cluttering up the main street... if nothing else. Currently we are the number one holiday place for the rich and famous. If you are lucky and you are at the right spot at the right time you can catch Celine Taylor doing her daily shopping in our local market, or perhaps catch Brad Higgins on his daily run. Though it is a bit of an anti-climax in real life...
	
	We were founded by Dutch settles, and for years we were an artist colony, way back in the 18th century, not to mention in the sixties we were overrun by hippies... which would explain our laid back moral, at least according to my girlfriend, Anne. We've got all kinds here; gay, straight, bi, bicurious, people who are willing to try anything once. The usual I would almost say. Anne would be the kind of curious kind. For a fact I know she experimented with a friend of hers on more than one occasion. Even I... what I mean is you can't get through high school here without at least having one gay experience, even if it is only a quick grope during one of the midsummer feasts. It's the hippy genes. 
	
	Though all of this would not explain the crazy shit we've done Just like-

"Narrating your own life again?" I look up, when she comes marching into the room and busts my bubble of concentration, throwing open one of the bedroom windows. 
"Just thinking." 
She turns and raises an eyebrow. 
"What? It is not that weird."
"The only thinking you do is with your cock."
"Wouw, ouch, and where did that come from?"
"I saw the little hussy you took out back with you" O.k. so I guess she isn't all that up and up with the whole 'open relationship' thing, even though it has been going on for several years... ever since she left for college.
"Why do you care? It's not like you hear me complaining every time you go out with whatsisname and return smelling of cheap cologne."
Staring at the little indicator blinking on my screen I realize this is not going to happen.
"Oh, oh this is so typical! One time, it was one time!"
"Don't get your nickers in a twist. And it was three." In fact she is a bit of an uptight bitch about it. Our relationship is not all that wonderful...
"Every time, every God Damn Time." 
The makeup sex is great though.
She stalks through the room, snatching her jacket from the bed before striding out again, muttering to herself. "Stupid men and their stupid..." I don't hear the rest because she slams the door shut cutting off any sound and temporarily deafening me. I take a look at my watch. I need to get to work. Rising slowly I take a long look around the small bedroom I share with my girlfriend. It really is my apartment. The double bed, the grey carpeting, the simple white walls, the large dresser against the wall that is only inches away from completely falling apart, the simple desk, the chair with the utterly chewed out upholstery. She is splattered over it, her clothing; her make up on the night stand, her smell on the sheets, the two rows of shoes next to the dresser, a picture of her and me at the prom, her picture, not mine. I don't even have that picture; I think, or I might, though I cannot for the life of me remember where I put it. Her splatters continue out into the living room with the simple leather couch and the cinderblock bookcase with a large flat screen TV (All mine). The girl magazines on the small coffee table, a box of tissues, DVDs of black anatomy, a half read book by Allende (All hers). It is like a poorly done paintjob which I try to ignore as I grab my keys and shut the door behind me.

"You are late."
"Almost," I point out to the hulking Panda awaiting me by the door, arms crossed looking very much pissed off, but that just might be his usual look. Part manager, part bouncer, this club is his baby and he treats it better than his wife. 
"With the emphasis on 'almost'." He grunts, stepping aside allowing me to enter. "Don't let it happen again."
"What, me being on time?"
"Smartass," for a moment I believe he is going to jump me, on the account of my insubordination, it makes my hackles tingle. I'm a big guy, but Wei is a whole other league. "The liquor is waiting for you out back. Stock up." Great, for a moment there I thought I had gotten away scot free; now he is making me haul the heave stuff. 
"Yes sir." I can hear him snort in a 'not quite' disdainful manner. It pleases him to be treated with respect, though he is, I think, only five years my senior.
"Yooo, Rusky, how is hanging."
"To the left as always."
"Need me to check?"
"No thank you I'm sure it is where I left it."
"Someday, you'll gladly accept my services."
"But not this day."
The rabbit shrugs, giving me a wink before sliding past me towards the bar. Marv is one of those ungraspable figures. He's gay, I mean... like really gay, but he has that something that, I dunno, it appeals. He shifts so smoothly from being the flaming queer to being this serious guy... with actually some pretty good advice (I hate to admit). He is fun to be around, and no matter how much he flirts with those around him, he never makes them feel (really) uncomfortable, which is... unusual. Behind the bar you see every type of drunk there is and are on the receiving end of every type of flirt there is, mostly you just smile and keep on working, but he...
"Staring at my ass again?" 
It snaps me back to reality. He and Sigrund, the large polarbear with legs up to her face, who takes care of the VIPs, stare at me from across the dance floor, he is leaning casually against the bar, his ass, with that teasing tail up in the air, pushed back. She is on the other side leaning over giving me a too good a view of her cleavage.
"I need to get the liquor." I say, shaking my head, while crossing that short distance before disappearing through the side door that gives access to the backroom where we keep all the refills. 

	I open the back door and see the many crates and casks waiting for me. I start lugging them in. "Did you guys fight again?" It's not really a question, but more of a statement in the form of a question. I look up. Marv is leaning against the doorframe, his face concerned. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes, you look like you have just been whipped and the smell is as thick on you as it is on a twinky's bed on a Sunday."
"That makes no sense." 
He frowns. "No guess you're right, but yes, it is that obvious."
Beyond him I can see Sigrund peering in over his shoulder. She doesn't say anything, she never says much, but her expression says it all. 
"She saw me with that girl last night." I admit, pushing my ears back. 
"Oh Rusky," he sighs, shaking his head. 
"To be honest I do not know why you to are still together." This makes me drop my head even lower; Sigrund's words hitting me sharply. It earns her a sharp look from Marv. "All they seem to do is fight, make up, and fuck, keeping the whole town awake by the way, only to start the whole damn thing again in a week or so."
"I do not think this is a subject you should bring up right now." His smile tense, ears perked up, his nostrils flaring. 
Sigrund shrugs; "It's the truth."
Marv opens his mouth, no doubt to tell her off.
"She's right... I guess. I-I just don't know." I put down the large crate with Albret whiskey. The box jingles softly as it hits the floor. My tail hangs idly by my side, my ears back, head dropped low. It used to be fun, but... "Now all we seem to do is fight. It is driving me crazy!"
"That is because you keep fucking around."
"She does it too!" It sounds childish, like I have been just caught with my paw in the cookie jar by an angry parent. 
Sigrund snorts disdainfully; "Only because you do."
"Not helping!" Marv stares her away, jerking his head sharply until finally she gets the hint, shrugs and leaves us alone. "Have you tried talking with her about it?"
"We fight."
"Without fighting I mean."
"We fuck." 
Marv rolls his eyes. "The basis of a solid relationship is that you keep talking, no matter what. As long as you keep talking, there is a chance that things might work out."
I raise an eyebrow, "Says you who..." I leave the rest up to his imagination.
"Of course says me, why do you think I don't have any long relationships, 'cause then I'd need to talk, to share, to deal with things, I'm much happier with my unresolved crap staying that way. How the hell do you think I stay so happy all the time?" He gives me one of his trademark happy-go-lucky smiles. It is that self-assured arrogance that gets me every time. I can't help but reply with a smile of my own.
"I dunno man. It's just all this conflict, this endless fighting. I... I sometimes forget why I loved her in the first place."
"You guys still fight, don't you?"
"Yeah..."
"Well that means you care. It wouldn't hurt you if you didn't care about it. You care about the fact she's fucking that fox, you care about the fact that she might leave you, you care that she saw you leave with whatshername the other night."
"I suppose so... It's just..."
"What?"
"Forget it. I need to get these boxes inside." I get up. The signal is clear, this conversation is over. Marv tilts his ears back. He doesn't like it, and I turn so I don't see his disappointed look. 
"Suit yourself if you ever want to talk about shit, you know where to find me." I wave him off with one paw while heading out back to roll in those large kegs. I make sure to stay out there long enough for him to leave. How did things come so messed up? Everything is just so confusing, I know I love her, well at least I did. I knew I loved her, and I knew why, and now everything is just so messed up. 

	The last of the liquor is carried inside and I take a look at my watch. It's almost six. It won't be long till dinner arrives, then we start the cleaning and the DJ will start his sound check. I'll probably be behind the bar making everything in order. She's still on my mind when I re-enter the club. As long as you are still fighting, it means you still care. Do I? Almost every night I meet another girl, another cougar, vixen or bitch. Every night I get at least a dozen numbers slipped my way and every so often I call one, or I have a quick booty call out back. I don't know why I do it, it's just... I find myself there with my pants around my ankles slamming into this stranger I haven't seen before in my life. Afterwards I feel the shame, no not shame; emptiness and I get left with that feeling till it slowly ebbs away, like the warm glow after a shot of whiskey. Things used to be so much easier, before... before...
	Nevermind.

	"Oooohhhh..." She gasps in my ear, arching her body, pressing her firm breasts against my chest. Fingers wind themselves through my hair, dragging my head closer while my mouth nibbles a path up her neck. I grasp her leg, boldly pushing my paw up her skirt until the denim fabric bunches around her waist. My fingers trail along the soft lace. Her fingers hike up my shirt, gathering the cotton fabric in her hand. I nuzzle her cheek ruff, finding that sweet little spot behind her jaw that makes her body shudder. "Yessss," she hisses, "there... oh gods right there." I can smell the alcohol on her breath, it is not like I care. One paw reaches down, joining my own and she drags down her panties. "Sweet mother of..." I'm cut off by her mouth, her tongue pressing against my lips, begging for entrance. 

	Her fingers trail the tent in my jeans, tracing the outlines of my shaft before reaching down to cup my balls. I break away gasping for breath. "You sure about this?" She nods. Her pupils are dilated. She squeezes, I let out a grunt. It is hardly the best place to do this. I try and move, but she drags me closer, not letting me escape her grasp. Fingers quickly undo my fly and I hiss feeling her cold fingers wrap around me. She laughs, short, breathless. I'm dragged out into the cold air, her grip sliding over the soft skin, my tip brushing somewhere against her thigh. "Ahnn..." She lets go of me, grabbing my wrist and directing me to her before returning to what she was doing. I do not hesitate but let my fingers slip in, eliciting a grunt that gets caught in her throat. For a moment we stand there, watching, our ragged breathing and the slight movements of our arms the only sign we haven't stopped. It has been so long ago I have been touched like that.

	I slam my lips against hers, fiercely. My paw feels up her body, while she keeps wrestling with my shirt. My bare stomach brushes against her. It feels odd, the soft fabrics of her shirt, the muscles moving underneath, that odd sensation of something that is not you brushing against you. She grunts, my teeth digging into her lips. When I finally move away I can see the little bruise. "Bed." I gasp, managing to drag her with me through the poorly lit room. The door slams open, I yank of the stupid shirt, she kicks of her nickers, working her dress down before dropping on the bed. 

	Kneeling down on the bed, I lean over her, shirtless with my dick hanging out. The street light reflects in her eyes and it feels as if I am completely detached from my body. I feel how I lean over her, look her in the eyes and I know I should kiss her, and I do, in mocked passion, my tongue slipping out before it works its way into her muzzle. She makes this sound in the back of her throat, her paw cupping my cheek. I'm grasping in the empty darkness, before finally finding the small wooden knob of the bedside table. I reach inside. Keeping myself balanced on one arm I drag out the plastic package I find there. She reaches down, once again grabbing a hold of me. I let out a groan. I know what is expected of me. I push her down, grabbing her legs that I place on both sides of me. I take the wrapper between my teeth and easily tear open the small package. I put it on. All this while her eyes are locked with mine in what is supposed to be, I guess, an intimate moment.

	Perfume is wafting off her, mixing with that all too familiar smell of musk and sex. I hesitate. She stares up expectantly, her thick tail swishing from side to side, brushing along my leg. She lets her body be covered by mine, while I direct myself between her legs. This time I don't hesitate and I push in. Her fingers clench my biceps, her body arches off the bed. I control myself, slowly sliding into her until my knot is pressed against her fur. "Oh gods... you are so big," She gasps, "I feel like a virgin." Dragging myself out again, I feel her body grasping me. It doesn't take long. I try my best to keep my mind off the cheesy sentences she whispers in my ear, or her musk that no longer arouses me, but threatens to grab me by the throat. I move, she moves, in awkward motions, like a poorly tuned machine. She moans, gasps, while I make soft grunting sounds every time I push in. She rakes her nails over my back, nicking the skin in several places. I don't hold back, letting my body go in autopilot, moving with a ferocity that is no doubt painful to her. We gasp and moan and whither, my tongue is lolling out, her eyes are rolled back in her head while she arches her back. 
I respond like I should, and my body responds like it always has, that familiar warm feeling welling up in my insides making my abs clench as I race towards the end, the springs in the bed creaking terribly under our combined weight and the ferocity of my thrusts. She cries out, her paws grabbing the sheet, some nonsensical sentence escaping her lips that could have been robbed from a poorly written love story. I growl, bearing my teeth, while desperately closing my eyes not wanting to see what I am doing. My mind blanks itself out. I don't hold back, but let happen whatever will happen. 
We cry out at the same time. "Thomas!" 
"Fuck!" Her body convulses around me and I spill myself in that ridiculous rubber sleeve. I keep going, gasping, not giving up on the pretence yet. Her nails leave an imprint in my flesh, her chest heaving making her breasts rise like waves on a beach. I yank myself free, rolling of off her, staring at the ceiling, gasping for breath. Almost immediately I yank of the rubber, tying it off and tossing it on the nightstand. We remain silent. Nothing but our ragged breathing and the distant sounds of a few drunken tourists trying to find their way back home fill the room. 

	"Wait, did you just call me Thomas?" 
She looks at me. Opening her mouth she doesn't get beyond the eloquent "U-uhhhrrr..." 
I push myself up on one arm. "Anne... who the fuck is Thomas?" She remains silent and I can see that spark of guilt that has become almost familiar. "This is bullshit." I get up, tucking myself back in. 
"Swiff!" She makes a grasp for my paw, I yank it out of her reach. 
"This is... fucking... bullshit." I snatch the shirt from the floor, dragging it over my head. 
"Swiff, please, don't, not now!"
"How dare you?" I wheel around. She's propped up on one elbow, her arm still hanging in the air. "You know I could deal with the fucking around, I could deal with the stupid ass arguments when I fucked around, I could deal with the fucking drama, but this... this..." I turn around.
"Swiff where are you going?"
"To get a smoke!" I slam the door shut with such force the whole frame shudders. The old lady just entering holds the door open and watches in surprise when I practically storm past her. Cold summer air hits my face, down the street there are some cars that slowly drift down the street. Shouts come from some side street. 

	I do not know where I am going. I'm just walking, a thousand thoughts assaulting my mind. She moaned another guy's name. Thomas, who the fuck was Thomas? It's not the fox she has been screwing. A list with possibly a hundred guys passes through my brain. I do not believe I ever met a guy named Thomas, well not in the recent past. Is it some guy from college perhaps? The few people still on the street look at me funny as I pass them. It has to be some guy she met in college, some smart ass guy who impresses her in class, and he'd buy her coffee, and she'd laugh, and he'd laugh, and they would fuck, fuck their brains out on his stupid campus chamber and afterwards they'll laugh about the dumb village jock she left behind, who still believes in her and who is an asshole because he sleeps with other girls. Not that she ever truly complained, she had given him permission, more or less, the moment she left for college. They only thing that ruffled her fur was when I did it when she was here. "Fucking asshole, fucking dipshit asshole." My nails dig painfully in my palms, my ears are forward, my eyes no doubt shoot fire. Some drunker beaver stumbles against me. He laughs, but quickly backs away the moment I glare at him.

	Thomas, fucking Thomas. Why does it upset me? I stop, as if noticing for the first time where I am. On my left there's the club. Across the street is the old tire shop of Mr Lour, now turned into some bistro type shop. I'm not far from Marv's apartment, who lives only half a block from the club. It is in the side street to my right. The neon lights that normally illuminate the club are extinguished; it is long past three, the time it usually closes on week days. It's like the morning after a terrible storm, when for the first time you realize it is quiet gain, and when you step outside and only see the chaos it has caused, making the silence all that more extreme. All my fury has evaporated and I am left standing in the wreckage it has left behind. 

	In the distance an early bird starts to tweet. The sun starts to illuminate the sky although it doesn't yet reveal its face. A truck starts humming, pulling out of the driveway. What time is it? I have no idea. Apparently I have left my watch at home. I shake my head. Why should I care, why should I even care?
