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a mandatory post-game locker room shower. Doing his best to ignore the fact that he and his P.E. classmates are totally stark-raving naked, he finds his mind drifting to more pleasant thoughts – a daydream of a recent, wonderful afternoon spent exploring with his young rat bestie Wendel, and Wendel’s sweet-natured big brother Chip...\n\nIllustration done by the awesome artist @Pux", "description_bbcode_parsed": "It’s been another humdrum school day for Tristan the young red fox, and he’s looking forward to meeting up with his friends later on for some adventuring... but first he’s got to endure a mandatory post-game locker room shower. Doing his best to ignore the fact that he and his P.E. classmates are totally stark-raving naked, he finds his mind drifting to more pleasant thoughts – a daydream of a recent, wonderful afternoon spent exploring with his young rat bestie Wendel, and Wendel’s sweet-natured big brother Chip...

Illustration done by the awesome artist \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
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", "writing": "[b][center]The Firefly Club[/center][/b]\n\n[center]By Stitch[/center]\n\n[center][i]Chapter 2[/i][/center]\n\n\nTristan did not much care for Physical Education.\n\nNot that he didn't enjoy sports, or that he minded a bit of roughhousing. No, what he didn't like about P.E. was they way everything was so rigidly structured... like soccer, for example. When he and his friends got together after school for an impromptu game in the park, the aim was not to follow all the rules and keep tabs on who was winning... the thing was simply to try and steal the ball, and then to run like mad across the lawn, kicking and punting it in front of you until somebody else came along and stole it. Then you got to try and steal it back again. Scoring a goal was nice, but it wasn't the point - it was really about running and feeling the ball thumping against your foot when you kicked it, laughing and yelling and smelling the fresh-cut grass, and then going home to eat cream cheese and raspberry jam sandwiches with your friends. \n\nThe school coaches, however, seemed fixated on the notion that the only single thing that counted was who won. According to school protocol, those who did win were presumed to have earned some great but ephemeral honor, while those who lost were supposed to simply work harder. Tristan found that this attitude completely sapped the joy out of the sport. If the only moment that really counted was the fleeting one at the very end when the score was tallied, then the act of playing became just another chore.\n\nBecause of this, Tristan was not a bad soccer player, but neither was he an exceptionally good one. Often during P.E. he found his thoughts drifting to other things, like movies and food and what he might get up to that weekend. On this particular day, he spent the whole game thinking about pizza. By the time the coach's shrill whistle blew, he was practically drooling, so intense were his fantasies of gooey melted cheese, zesty tomato sauce flecked with little green herbs, salty catfish pepperoni crisped reddish-brown around the edges, thin white circles of onion, juicy chunks of fishball sausage, tender slices of grey mushroom, and tiny wisps of hot steam rising from a freshly-pulled slice... it was agony. For all his fantasizing, of course, his family was probably going to have baked squash for dinner, or leftover tuna casserole or something. He could hear his belly rumbling. \n\nActually, he mused, that was another example of the changes going on inside him as of late - he couldn't seem to keep his stomach full. With a heavy sigh, he trudged across the grass playing field toward the huge grey locker room, hardly noticing the other cubs around him in their matching green shorts and t-shirts with silver silhouettes of soaring falcons printed on them. He idly watched the black-furred tip of a meerkat cub's long, tapered tail swishing back and forth through the air in front of him. Ahead, the P.E. building loomed like a giant prison complex... the addition of a shamrock racing stripe and that zooming shadow-falcon painted along the side of the tan-bricked structure had not particularly added any charm. \n\nHaphazardly, the cubs began to march in through the open double doors, their matching white grass-stained sneakers clumping loudly against the damp grey concrete floor. The inside of the male's locker room was surprisingly large, a single vast open space lit by row after row of softly humming fluorescent lights hanging from the twenty-foot-high ceiling. Once inside, the cubs made their way past a row of brightly illuminated, multicolored vending machines that dispensed Fizz Pop, Cocoa Snappy Bars and sticks of Butterscotch Crackle, then around a corner and into a long central corridor that led down a complex network of tall tan-painted metal lockers. Every semester, it always took Tristan nearly two weeks to firmly memorize where his one was in that jumble of alcoves and alleyways. \n\nHe made his way around another corner, then walked down a narrow passageway lined by tall skinny lockers, until he reached number 717, his own. As he spun the black dial on his padlock, he sucked his teeth in annoyance and wished that he'd been lucky enough to have P.E. sixth period instead of fifth. It would have been nice to simply slip back into his regular clothes, then grab a Snappy Bar and head freely out into the afternoon sunshine. Usually after school he met up with Rocko by the edge of the school's parking lot, and then the two of them would walk home, taking the long way through nearby Copperwood Park. As it stood, however, he had just enough time to take a quick shower and then head off to Economics class, where he would doubtless join his fellow students in a dazed stupor for the next hour. Plus, his fur would be damp. \n\nAh, well, at least the showers had hot water this semester. \n\nTristan undid the button over his tail, then slid out of his shorts and underwear, blushing under his fur as he did so, though he knew it was foolish to be embarrassed. After all, everybody else taking a shower would be naked, too and he'd done this hundreds of times before. Still, there was something about standing there completely nude, his bare feet on the cold concrete floor, surrounded by narrow lockers in an enormous chilly room with a bunch of other bare cubs, that was inescapably awkward. \n\nHe remembered back to his first semester in the fourth grade, when showers became mandatory. There had been that first embarrassing time, when he and a bunch of other cubs had stood in front of the spigots and white-tiled shower columns, their towels wrapped tightly around their middles, all of them staring at the walls and wondering if there was any possible way out of there. \n\nEventually, a couple of the bolder cubs had sloughed off their towels and stood naked in the cool fluorescent light. Tristan still remembered the sensation as he'd followed suit, the way his fluffy blue towel had felt as it slid away from his fur, the soft flow of air over his naked body from the overhead ventilation. More than that, though, he was keenly aware of his complete exposure, and also the quick flitting of his schoolmates' eyes as they all tried not to look at each other and failed.\n\nTristan shivered and shook himself out of his memories. Reaching into his locker, he plucked out his towel, wrapped it around his middle, and shut his locker. Then he turned and made his way back to the central corridor.\n\nThe showers were all located in the very back of the locker room on a long platform of white non-skid tile lined on one side with a six-inch upraised border to keep the water from spilling out onto the floor. There were seven tall, rectangular white-tiled columns, each two feet thick, and each with four steel spigots sticking out of the sides. Twenty-eight spigots in all, though as always, two were broken. Half of them were already taken when Tristan got there. \n\nThe air was hot and damp, smelling of mildew, disinfectant, and various flavors of wet fur. The cubs in the showers scrubbed at themselves briskly, their soapy feet slapping wetly against the tiles. Tristan slipped his towel off and wadded it up onto a nearby wooden bench, then stepped over the upraised border and stood underneath the nearest available spigot. \n\nThere was a pudgy beaver cub standing on the other side of the column. His brown fur, which reminded Tristan of the color of dark chocolate ice cream, was already thick with white suds. Like all beavers, this one's long front teeth tended to poke out from under his upper lip; Tristan had often wondered if they were annoyed by this. He didn't know any beavers, so he couldn't ask to find out. \n\nThe beaver caught him glancing his way and gave him a quick smile, turning ever so casually to the side to try and obscure his soap-covered genitals. Tristan put on his own casual face, as if he walked around naked all the time. He turned on the hot water and moved to stand under the stream. Just out of the corner of his eye, he caught the beaver sneaking a quick, covert peek at him.\n\nAs Tristan felt his fur go sopping wet, he reached for the soap dispenser that was bolted to the tiles at chest-level and squirted several thick dollops of blue goo into his palm. Spreading his fingers out through his fur, he rubbed it in down to his skin, wrinkling his nose at the weird scent the school's soap had. It smelled something like a coconut that had been stuffed with pineapple-scented urinal cakes, but at least it wasn't that granulated powdery stuff that left residual pink particles in your fur. \n\nAs he quickly scrubbed his fingertips through his fur, he listened to the other cubs slapping their feet in the water and did his best not to look directly at them. Tristan had long thought it was peculiar that, while the other male cubs spent their gym hours engaged in loud sexually-themed bravado, constantly bragging about the enormity of their genitals and making jokes about their incredible prowess, everyone turned into an awkward, bashful wuss once the clothes actually came off. Like Tristan, most of them masked their insecurity with feigned casualness, but a few went for brash, obnoxious humor instead... even now, some hyperactive cougar standing not far from Tristan was smacking his sopping rear end and loudly inviting his coyote friend to `cornhole' him. Tristan wasn't about to go there himself - he knew that there was a strange, dangerous dividing line between joking and not-joking, and woe to the cub who tripped over it. \n\nTristan continued to work his fingers through his fur, down his chest and belly. He could feel the soap suds dribbling in thick clumps down the underside of his sheath. Blushing under his fur again, he stood back and let the water stream against his belly, then gave his genitals a lightning-quick pat down. That was another thing, in addition to not looking at the other cubs in the shower... you weren't even supposed to look at yourself, or spend more than a split second touching down there. Otherwise, some smart-ass would accuse you of playing with yourself, and then you'd be the butt of a bajillion jack-off jokes for the rest of your life.\n\nThat was the crowning hypocrisy, actually. Tristan had, like most male cubs his age, discovered that there was much pleasure to be had in touching himself. Most of his late-night explorations ended in a giddy orgasm, a strangled grunt and a flurry of paw-strokes over his throbbing, spurting penis. He would have bet real money that that was exactly what every one of these other cubs were doing under their sheets at night, too. Why was it, then, that everyone reacted to charges of masturbation with horror and loud denial? Like you were never supposed to have done it, even once. \n\nNot that he actually wanted to go around bragging about it, of course. As far as Tristan was concerned, part of the thrill of playing with himself was that it was purely private, something he did just for himself, with no need for any outside approval of the fantasies and desires that played out in his mind while he did it. Still... why was something that felt so good, and that everybody was doing all the time anyway, supposed to be this terrible thing?\n\n[i]`Anyway, who in their right mind would jerk off at school?'[/i] he mused. He could think of many places he'd rather do it than in the locker room showers. In point of fact he [i]had[/i] done it in a few unlikely locations: A couple of times down in the creek near the foothills, in a shallow ditch behind some thick oak roots; once behind the tool shed in his own back yard; once even at Berry's house during a sleepover, his climax aimed hastily into the bathroom sink. By and large, though, he preferred to do it just before going to sleep, tucked away under his heavy warm blankets with the window shade closed and a little tin of lilac-scented cold cream within easy reach on top of his dresser. \n\nLike many cubs before him, Tristan had learned how to play with himself through instruction by a trusted friend. In his case it had been a young coffee-brown rat named Wendel who had first shown him how to do it. He and Wendel had been friends since the second grade, starting on a day Tristan had been without lunch money and the little rat had offered to share half of his prawn salad sandwich with him. Since then, they had spent countless hours prowling around the park near the creek, climbing trees, plotting to build rocket-ships, and engaging in many thousands of other such vitally important cub-hood pursuits. \n\nLast autumn, Tristan remembered, as they had been playing in Wendel's back yard, the young rat had set aside his toy car and given Tristan a long and peculiar look. ``Hey, Tris,'' he'd finally said. ``Have you ever had an orgasm?''\n\nTristan had blinked in surprise, then struggled to regain his composure. In truth, he had not, but the sexual politics of the playground dictated that by the age of twelve, one should already be claiming to have a full harem of attractive female love slaves. Orgasm? Wasn't that what happened when you `did it'? Something to do with sperms swimming out of you? ``Yeah, sure,'' he'd lied. \n\nWendel had smiled and preened his long, bristly milky-grey whiskers proudly. ``Cool. Me too.'' They'd played with Wendel's cars a little longer. Tristan found himself feeling strange... Wendel had had an orgasm? When? How? After a few more minutes, he set his own toy car down.\n\n``So, did you... ah, `do it' with someone?''\n\nWendel gave him another peculiar look before snickering. ``No,'' he replied, and Tristan was just starting to think he'd asked a very stupid question when Wendel leaned forward and whispered in a confidential tone: ``I [i]masturbated[/i].''\n\n``Oh,'' replied Tristan.\n\n``Chip showed me how,'' Wendel continued in that secretive soft tone. He was referring to his older brother Chip, who was 15 years old and tall, his fur a creamy brown, like hot cocoa with almond milk splashed in it. Tristan didn't know Chip very well, but he seemed like a typical big-brother: His bedroom was covered with posters of baseball players and rock stars, and he could often be heard practicing his guitar in the garage with his buddies. \n\nWendel gave Tristan another funny look. ``You know how to do that, right?''\n\n``Well, yeah, I... guess so.'' Tristan was fascinated by the implications of the conversation, but all the same he felt like he was getting in over his head. Why didn't they teach this kind of stuff in school?\n\nBut Wendel just smiled his usual friendly smile. ``Aw, it's easy. You just squeeze hold of your dick with your paw and... you know, [i]hump[/i] it.'' For emphasis, he held up his paw with his fingers curled in a circle and moved it back and forth in the air.\n\n``Yeah?''\n\n``Yeah.'' Wendel leaned very close and murmured in Tristan's ear. ``It feels [i]really good[/i].''\n\n``Cool,'' replied Tristan with a wide-eyed nod. Somehow he felt as though he'd just been given something truly valuable, like finding a key to a secret door. This information was leading him into uncharted waters, places that he'd only recently learned the existence of. \n\nWendel set his car down again and stood up. He stretched his arms up toward the cloudy sky, whiskers fanning out from the sides of his pointed muzzle. ``Come on,'' he said as he gestured toward the house's back door. ``I'll show you.''\n\n[center]<><><><><><><><><><>[/center]\n\nTristan was startled out of his memories by a sudden squawk from one of the nearby cubs. Jerking his head up from the white-tiled floor where he'd been staring, he saw that the cougar and coyote were trying to slap each other in the butt with their small green `Falcons' washcloths. \n\n``You sissy bitch!'' laughed the cougar as he flicked the end of his sopping rag at his friend, just missing by a hair. The tip of the washcloth snapped loudly and sprayed the coyote's backside with water. They laughed loudly, then abruptly stifled their enthusiasm... everybody knew that roughhousing in the showers was a good way to get one of the coaches in to yell at everybody, followed by an impromptu round of push-ups. ``Your mamma, ass-clown,'' replied the coyote as he moved to stand back under the stream of water. The cougar shot him the finger, and the two of them laughed again. \n\nAs Tristan turned his attention back to his own shower, he briefly caught the eye of the beaver cub again. Tristan put on an exasperated face and rolled his eyes. He was pleased when the beaver broke into a shy little grin.\n\nTristan began to stroke his belly-fur, squeezing the soap suds out of it. He wondered idly if the coyote and cougar had ever actually `done it', or maybe touched each other or something. He conjured up a quick mental image of the two of them sitting next to each other on a grubby couch in a basement, their shorts and boxers down around their ankles, a cheesy bootleg porno flickering on an old TV in front of them, both of them frantically jerking each other off and then awkwardly laughing it away later as no big deal - because, you know, they were [i]totally[/i] thinking about girls the whole time. Of course, this hypothetical scenario had probably never happened... but on the other paw, those two did spend an awful lot of time harassing each other about that kind of stuff. \n\nKind of like how he and Berry and Rocko joked around, now that he thought about it... except somehow it seemed different with his friends. He couldn't quite put his finger on what that difference was, but he knew it was there. Maybe it was because there was something kind of mean and mocking in the way guys like the cougar and the coyote teased each other - at the very least, none of his own friends had ever tried to hit him in the butt with a washcloth while calling him an `ass-clown'.\n\nAs he scrubbed, he found his memories drifting back to that day with Wendel, and what had happened in Chip's room.\n\n[center]<><><><><><><><><><>[/center]\n\nHe and Wendel had gone back into the house, leaving their toy cars outside. It was overcast, but putting the toys away would take time, and suddenly it seemed like there was no time to waste. Tristan felt a wild flutter in his belly, the same feeling he got just before a soccer game with his friends, or on the morning of his birthday. He knew that Wendel's parents were both out of the house, and would be away for hours. Whatever his rat friend wanted to show him, they should have plenty of time and privacy. \n\nThey walked through the kitchen, where a pair of crumb-speckled pale-blue plastic plates still sat on the little wooden table beside the porch window. They'd had grilled cheese sandwiches, which always tasted better at Wendel's house for some reason. They strode past the fridge, then around the corner and into the spacious living room, with it's soft cushy brown carpet, comfy white sofas, little end tables with potted plants sprouting out of them, and the coolest thing in the house: Wendel's dad's giant TV. Many, many hours had been spent laying on the floor in front of that huge glass screen, playing video games and watching creepy movies.\n\nHeading around the hallway corner, they were both suddenly startled to find themselves face to face with Chip. The older rat was coming down the hall holding a black mesh bag full of dirty laundry. As usual, Chip was wearing a baseball cap that had the sides trimmed to accommodate his large pink ears, as well as a loosely fitting red t-shirt and baggy blue pants. \n\n``Hey, dork-meister,'' said Chip to his little brother. Tristan felt his heart sink. He'd thought they had the house to themselves, but with Chip around there was no guarantee of privacy, so Wendel probably wouldn't want to do anything. They'd end up parked in front of the TV watching a movie while Chip hovered around. \n\n``I thought you were at practice,'' said Wendel.\n\n``Nah, Tony's drum machine is still busted. I figured I'd just come home and do stuff.''\n\nTristan sucked his teeth in annoyance. Now that the impromptu `masturbation' lesson had been interrupted, he wanted more than anything to try it. True, Wendel had told him the basics, and he could try it out at home later - but the thought of seeing his friend doing it was half the reason he'd been excited. In all the years he'd known Wendel (five, but that seemed an eternity to Tristan), he'd only seen his rat friend fully naked a pawful of times. Now, with Chip standing there in the way, he felt the opportunity slipping away. \n\n``Heya, Tris,'' said Chip, startling him a little. \n\nTristan blinked. ``Mm? Hey, Chip.''\n\n``You guys getting into trouble?'' Chip smiled, then did something he'd never done before... he reached out and ruffled the fur between Tristan's ears. \n\nTristan bowed his head, blinking again in surprise, then stared quizzically at Chip. Wendel simply chuckled.\n\n``Yeah,'' said Wendel. ``We're gonna go and masturbate.''\n\nTristan felt his heart practically stop cold in his chest. Had he just heard Wendel tell his big brother what he thought he'd just heard? His eyes popped wide, certain that Chip was about to run laughing into the streets. \n\nInstead, the taller rat smirked at them and asked: ``Yeah? Feeling frisky today, are ya?'' Tristan remembered then what Wendel had said, that Chip was the one who taught him in the first place. Relief flooded through him... all the same, he still felt more than a little awkward.\n\n``Tris doesn't know how yet, so I'm gonna show him.''\n\nTristan flushed hot under his fur, but again Chip just smiled and shrugged. ``That's cool. Better sooner than later. My buddy Benji didn't figure it out `til he was almost fourteen, poor sap. His balls were probably past blue and all the way into purple.'' Chip slung his laundry bag over his shoulder. ``Actually, I'm kinda pent up, myself. Mind if I tag along?''\n\nWendel shrugged and looked at Tristan. \n\nTristan blinked. ``Uh... cool?'' \n\n``Excellent,'' said Chip. Then he leaned forward and added, ``'Cause I have had a [i]dangerous[/i]-wicked stiffie all day, I'm not even fooling.'' Both he and Wendel laughed. Chip moved to walk around them. ``Tell you what, go in my room. I'm gonna get these shirts going, then I'll be right there.''\n\n``Okay,'' said Wendel. ``Do you still have the CJ?''\n\n``In my sock drawer.'' Chip strode briskly down the hall and around the corner, presumably making his way to the laundry room.\n\nWendel gently pulled on Tristan's sleeve and began to walk toward Chip's bedroom door. Tristan followed, feeling somehow like a tourist in a strange new land, rather than just in his friend's familiar house. \n\n``CJ?'' asked Tristan softly, unconsciously using a secretive, confidential tone of voice. \n\n``You'll see,'' replied Wendel with a knowing smile. \n\nThe inside of Chip's bedroom was controlled chaos, a wild scattering of dirty laundry, clean laundry, magazines, paperbacks, rolled up posters on the floor, and a lot of random knick-knacks, most of which were sports-themed. On the walls hung several posters of baseball heroes, as well as a few cheaply-framed pictures of rock stars. His ceiling, too, was decorated with posters, all thumb-tacked in, some ripped. Over his rumpled bed was a black-light picture of a dragon swooping down, its ridiculously over-sized claws outstretched... it looked like the sort of thing you'd win at a carnival for popping some half-inflated balloons with a rusty dart. The air was stale and sort of rodenty - obviously the window near the lone overstuffed bookshelf didn't get opened much. \n\nWendel made a beeline for the large wooden chest of drawers beside the bookshelf and slid open the top. Inside was an explosion of unmatched, color-striped tube socks. The young rat reached in and plucked out a small, clear plastic jar with a blue label on the front that read `MacGill's All-Natural Coconut Jelly for Sensitive Skin'. There was some kind of semi-opaque whitish goo inside, and Tristan could see that the jar was half-empty.\n\n``CJ,'' said Wendel as he held up the jar for Tristan to see. ``That's what Chip and me call it.'' Tristan stood in the middle of the room, feeling nervous and excited. \n\nWendel set the jar of `CJ' down on the floor and pulled off his shirt. ``Leave your clothes by the door, or you'll lose `em in here,'' he said, nudging a dirty pair of pants on the floor with his foot for emphasis. \n\nTristan nodded, eyes wide, and slipped out of his own shirt. Carefully, he set it down beside the bedroom door, in a lone clear spot among the clutter. When he turned around, his heart fluttered in his chest; Wendel had pulled his pants off too, and was starting to pull at the little underwear button over his tail-base. The young rat gave him a quick smile and pointed at Tristan's pale brown joggers, as if to say: `Come on, off with `em.'\n\nAs Tristan clumsily fumbled with his belt buckle, he watched Wendel undo the button in his snug white briefs, then hook his thumbs under the elastic and start to pull them down. The stretchy blue-banded material clung to the rat's thigh fur as it slid past, ruffling it. Then his underwear fell loose around his knees, and he kicked them off. Tristan stared with total fascination... he'd seen his friend in the buff before, but it had always been in quick little flashes. This was really the first time he felt that it was fully appropriate to have a good, long look at Wendel's soft, fuzzy parts. \n\nWendel, for his part, stood beaming with his paws on his naked hips, allowing his fox friend to take in all the naughty details. His sheath was tucked tightly up between his legs, a small fleshy round lump covered in a fine spray of creamy tan fur. His balls, which seemed surprisingly large, were nestled like a pair of fuzzy pink-skinned plums just below the base of his sheath... Tristan could make out another hint of bubblegum-colored skin just at the tip of it, almost the same shade as Wendel's long, fur-less tail. \n\nWendel smiled broadly, letting his long incisors poke out from under his lip. ``Impressive, wot? `Tis a rat thing,'' he said in a poor mock-Cockney accent. Tristan nodded in agreement, not sure what he should say. ``Come on, let's see yours.''\n\nTristan slid out of his pants, then undid his own underwear button. For a moment, his usual self-consciousness returned, and he almost froze in place with his thumbs hooked under the elastic. He could feel his tail-base and the top part of his rump exposed to the air. But Wendel was still smiling expectantly, and the rat's nakedness made him feel a little more comfortable. With a single downward stroke, he slid his underwear off. \n\nTristan's own sheath was a bit longer than Wendel's, the end of it being more pointed. The very tip of it was fur-less, a little pink ring surrounded by a silky halo of soft red and white hair. The underside ran down between his legs, showing the firm outline of his penis, tucked down inside its warm fleshy enclosure. Below that, his balls were tucked away in a fuzzy, creamy-furred sac. He wondered what Wendel thought as the young rat looked him over. \n\n``It's funny,'' said Tristan at last. ``A few nights ago I had a dream that I came to school like this.''\n\nWendel laughed. ``Doesn't look like you had anything to be ashamed of.''\n\nTristan felt his chest puff out at the flattery.\n\n``Come on, lemme show you what to do...'' Wendel sat down on the edge of his brother's bed. Tristan shuffled across the room until he was standing in front of him. The young rat reached up between his own legs and began to gently rub at the end of his sheath. Tristan watched attentively, startled to see a sudden flash of dark pink poking up from the center of the fleshy opening. \n\nWendel pulled and nudged with his fingertips, then briskly stroked at the sides of his sheath. The tip of his penis, narrow-pointed and red as a strawberry ice pop, had popped free and was poking straight up at Tristan. Wendel leaned back on one paw and continued to rub at himself, until the sheath opened and length of his shaft slid out. It was longer than Tristan had expected, maybe a good five inches, which suddenly put the rat's large balls into their proper perspective. The very end of it was dark red in color, the shaft a little lighter and streaked with soft outlines of greyish-blue veins. The young rat's sheath opening encircled the very base of the shaft like the end of a snug pink sock that had pulled back.\n\nTristan watched closely as Wendel wrapped his fingers around his penis and began to nudge and pull at it, slowly at first. After a few seconds it stiffened in his grip and began to swell. Now it was sticking straight out, the skin of it shiny and taut. Tristan could see the veins in it more clearly too. \n\nStill leaning back, Wendel made a fist around the base of his penis and squeezed. The end of the shaft seemed to jerk against his fingers, and he grunted softly. As Tristan watched, the little slit at the very tip popped open, briefly exposing the inner part of Wendel's pee hole, moist and glistening.\n\n``'Kay,'' said Wendel as he let go of his shaft and plucked up the jar of `CJ'. After unscrewing the metal lid, he dipped his finger in and scooped up a heavy cream-colored gob of thick goo. ``Here's what you do.'' Tristan watched as Wendel slicked up the length of his shaft, coating his fingers and the fur around his sheath with jelly. Then he made another tight fist at the base of his shaft and squeezed again. This time his penis slipped between his fingers with a slick, squicky sort of sound. Wendel's small grey thumb-claw traced a thin trail through the coconut jelly, and he re-adjusted his grip. ``You wanna be careful you don't scratch it,'' he murmured. ``Trust me on that one.''\n\nWendel stroked his erect penis for a half-minute or so, his fist working its way up and down the glop-smeared shaft. ``Just keep doing like this,'' he instructed. ``Now you try it.''\n\nTristan nodded, still staring down at Wendel. After a moment he knelt down and leaned back on his knees. He was surprised to see that his own penis had already slid halfway out and was poking up into the air... when did it do that? Scooping his own glob of jelly onto his fingertip, he smeared it gingerly along the underside of his shaft, shivering at the weird sticky-cool sensation while the sweet, vaguely tropical scent of it tingled softly in his nostrils. Aware that Wendel was watching him closely, he let his fingers slide around his penis and gave it a squeeze. \n\nThere was a soft squelching sound as the jelly mushed out from between his fingers. He nearly giggled... but then something strange happened to him. As he squeezed, he felt a sudden warmth ripple through his belly and thighs, and his penis shot fully out of his sheath faster than it ever had before. It slid against his paw and lay heavily in his palm, hot and slippery with coconut gel. He stared down at it in surprise, still feeling that odd warmth in his lower half. From his perch on the edge of the bed, Wendel chuckled softly. \n\nTristan felt a gust of wind flow over his back and tail as the door opened behind him. For a moment, he nearly panicked and scrambled to cover himself, until he realized that it was only Chip, coming to join them. \n\n``Hey, squirts,'' said Chip as he shut the door behind them. Tristan turned to look over his shoulder and saw that Chip had already removed his shirt and was undoing his belt. ``Looks like you started without me.''\n\nWendel stood up, his feet thudding softly to the carpeted floor. For just a moment, the young rat's erect penis bobbed right in front of Tristan's face, close enough that he could have leaned forward and bumped it with his nose. Tristan felt his penis swell up even more in his palm. It was starting to get really hard, too, much harder than it usually did. It was getting so stiff the thin baculum bone in the center of his shaft seemed to ache. \n\nWendel scooted around him and off to the side. ``You want your bed, Chip?''\n\n``Nah,'' said Chip as he stood looking down at Tristan. ``You can have it. I wanna do it on the floor.'' To Tristan's surprise, Chip reached out and pressed his fingertips into Wendel's belly-fur. ``Just don't jizz on my pillow, you dork,'' he added with a sleazy smile as he briefly gave Wendel's belly a quick rub with the flat of his outstretched paw. Wendel smiled back and reached up to ruffle the fur between Chip's large pink ears, his penis still slick and hard in the air. Chip looked down at Tristan, who was still hunkered on the floor with his erect penis throbbing in his paw. \n\nTristan looked back up at him, giddy with the barrage of new sensations and ideas that were flooding over him. Everything was happening so quickly...\n\n Chip smiled again and let out a low whistle. ``Damn, Wen, your buddy's cock is seriously raging, there,'' he said, arching the bristly whiskers over his eyes. ``Must be totally pent up.''\n\nTristan beamed proudly, practically shivering now with excitement. Somehow, Chip's approval of his penis was the single best compliment ever. Not a penis, actually... it was a [i]cock[/i]. A crude word, yes, but what else would you call the swollen, tingling red shaft clutched in his trembling fingers?\n\nChip reached his foot out and gently scratched his toe claws against Tristan's leg, then turned his attention back to getting undressed while Wendel moved back to the bed and sat back down on the edge.\n\nTristan began to study his penis, twisting it from side to side for a better look. It had turned a dark red color, and he could see his own veins under the skin like faint traces of graphite. The sides of the shaft were swollen out, and at the base, his little rounded knot had popped free of its sheath. When he'd been younger, the knot was just a hard lump that slid in and out with ease, but lately he found that when it came free, the elastic pressure from his sheath would trap it and make it swell, hot and strangely over-sensitive to the touch. Sometimes it would take minutes to go back down again enough that he could re-sheath - but its warm pressure always seemed to linger deep inside him.\n\nNow that it was out, his knot had engorged to what seemed like ridiculous proportions. He could feel the end of his sheath stretched about as far as it would go, and for a few moments he nearly panicked. What would he do if it wouldn't go back in? He'd have to spend the rest of his life hobbling around with a plum-sized lump in the front of his pants. How would he get out of mandatory showers in P.E.?\n\nNo, this was normal, he was almost sure of it. After all, every male canid had a knot, right? He remembered a book his dad had read to him about a year ago, something called `A Healthy Guide for Young Foxes' or some-such, and it had described this very thing. As they'd flipped through the pages, he had arched his eye-whiskers at the odd profile drawing of an erect fox penis and asked his dad: ``Doesn't that hurt?'' His dad had made a peculiar face, mouth pursing... it hadn't been until later that he'd realized his father had been trying not to laugh. \n\nTristan sighed deeply, forcing himself to calm down. Each little squeeze he gave his penis seemed to send a tickle of static electricity through his body. When he looked up, he saw that both Wendel and Chip were watching him, each with their own erections grasped in their paws. He felt a giddy little bubble rise up from his belly and burst out as a soft giggle. This was, he decided, the coolest thing ever. \n\nNaked and hunkering down on the floor in front of Tristan, Chip broke into a grin and said: ``Feels good, right?'' \n\nTristan nodded. On the bed, Wendel began to stroke his paw up and down against his shaft. ``Just do like this, see?''\n\nTristan leaned back and started to rub himself in the way that the two rats were doing. At first clumsy and fumbling, he quickly found that squeezing tightly and using his wrist to drag his fingers along the shaft gave him a delightful, constant pressure that made him want to... well, [i]something[/i]. \n\nChip had set himself down onto his dirty laundry on the floor and was laying on his back. Tristan watched the older rat curiously. Chip's penis was much longer than his own, and smoother, the skin a dark shade of bubble-gum pink. It looked to be as hard as a soup bone, too.\n\nWendel, meanwhile, had flung himself back onto Chip's sheets and had begun masturbating furiously, his paw slipping up and down like a miniature piston. ``Nnnhff,'' he grunted. \n\nChip leaned up on his elbow and gave his brother a petulant frown. ``Quit trying so hard, doof. You're gonna give yourself a hernia.''\n\nWendel stuck his tongue out and continued to stroke himself, though Tristan noticed that he did slow down a little. \n\nTristan lay back on his rump, tucked his tail between his legs, and started to work his paw. Squeezing and pulling, squeezing and pulling, squeezing and pulling... he felt the muscles in his thighs begin to tighten and realized that he had unconsciously started to thrust his hips up, driving his penis into his fist in time with the stroking. With a soft gasp, he began to breathe through his mouth, propping his chin against his chest to look down at himself. At his feet, Chip lay with his legs spread, erection poking straight up, his delicate rat fingers working around the end of it. \n\nThey lay like that for ten minutes, maybe more, the only sounds in the room the loud huffing of their breathing and the sticky squelch of coconut jelly. Tristan continued to watch his paw jerk up and down, seemingly out of his control now. Yes, indeed, this did feel good. In point of fact, it felt [i]great[/i]. He was discovering nerve endings he never even knew he had, all of them dancing with little hot tickles of pleasure at his touch. But somehow it was frustrating, too... it seemed like he could go on doing this forever, and enjoyable as it was, he was starting to feel anxious. His hips continued to hump away, pushing his rump up from the carpet, but there was something weird about his movements now. The muscles were quivering and tense, and what's more his tail-base was twitching, causing his bushy red and white tail to swish back and forth. There was so much nervous energy in him, he almost wanted to run naked out of the house and climb a tree or something. \n\nChip, he noticed, was likewise trembling. The older rat's penis had gone from dark pink to light red, and his balls had pulled up to tuck themselves tightly between his legs. Curious, Tristan reached his free paw down and cupped himself... sure enough, his own balls had done the same. Glancing down, he noticed Chip looking at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then broke into matching smiles. \n\nChip looked as though he were about to say something when Wendel snorted and announced: ``Dammit, I gotta pee.''\n\nThe younger rat swung his legs over the edge of the bed and thudded down onto the floor. His glistening penis jutted in front of him, and he seemed to be looking down at it with a frustrated pout. ``Hang on, gonna piss. Be right back.'' With that, he stomped across the floor, his shaft bobbing in the air, stepped right over Tristan's head, and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. \n\nTristan glanced at Chip, the both of them still stroking.\n\nChip rolled his eyes. ``He can't come,'' he whispered confidentially. ``I [i]told[/i] him to ease up.''\n\nTristan arched his eye-whiskers curiously. [i]Come? Come where?[/i]\n\nPropping himself up on his elbow, Chip smiled at him. ``He's trying too hard, is all. I guess he wants to impress you.'' He leaned forward and glanced at the door, as if worried that Wendel could hear him. ``He's jerking off in the sink right now, probably with his finger all the way up his ass,'' he whispered. ``It's like his last resort, or something. He'll be in there for another five minutes, at least.'' \n\nThere was something in the way Chip spoke those last words that made Tristan feel even more anxious, as if Wendel's absence made for a sudden and unexpected opportunity. \n\nChip was looking at Tristan intently, his black eyes gleaming in the dim light. Tristan stared back. The older rat stroked himself vigorously, his belly rising and falling as if he'd just run a mile. ``Like what you see?'' he asked through a toothy smile. \n\nTristan began to blush at his ear-tips, and was about to look away, but Chip spread his legs even further and humped his thighs up. ``It's okay, you can watch if you want,'' he said, voice quivering. Now Tristan could see, in addition to Chip's penis, sheath and balls, the small pink pucker of his anus exposed just above his thick tail-base. He wondered if Chip could see his own opening, and stroked even harder. \n\n``Hey,'' whispered Chip urgently. ``You really wanna see something?'' Tristan leaned forward curiously, propping himself up on his elbow. Chip's voice sounded strained, and his whole body seemed to be trembling. Tristan was suddenly surprised to see a thin silvery bead of liquid appear at the tip of the rat's penis and dribble down the side, where it disappeared between Chip's fingers with a barely audible squelch. ``C'mere, it's okay...'' Chip gestured for Tristan to move closer with his free paw.\n\nHeart thumping wildly in his chest, Tristan sat up, then scootched forward on his knees until he was hunkered on his haunches between Chip's legs, the rat's tail almost touching his rump. Chip's penis seemed enormous up close, swollen and red, the pointed tip poking into the air not a foot from his nose. He could see more of that clear stuff, like sticky water, trickling from the end of it, and now too there was a sharp scent in his nostrils, musky and raw. ``I'm gonna come,'' whispered Chip hoarsely, whiskers fanning out from his sharp muzzle as he smiled with pleasure. \n\nTristan watched attentively, not at all sure of what he was about to see. He felt something warm touching his balls, and realized after a moment that it was Chip's tail, brushing up between his legs.\n\n``Closer...'' Chip whispered, almost pleading. ``Get closer...''\n\nNow his heart felt like it was going to pop out of his chest and fly across the room. Hardly believing what he was doing, he lowered his head down between Chip's legs, inching closer and closer until his nose was all but an inch away from the underside of the rat's penis. He could feel the warmth radiating from the slick red skin, and the gentle whiff of air across his whiskers from the brisk stroking of Chip's fingers. \n\nChip stared at him, eyes gleaming like chips of black diamond, a tight grin on his furry grey face. When Tristan's nose was practically brushing the backs of his fingers, Chip suddenly adjusted his grip so that he was only touching the front and sides of his shaft, leaving the underside of it exposed. \n\nTristan instinctively understood the meaning of the gesture, and for a split second his head literally swam with excitement, as if he'd inhaled a balloon-full of helium. With a slow but deliberate nudge forward, he pressed his mouth against the slippery hot underside of Chip's penis, kissing the slick, sticky skin of his shaft. The rat gasped at the contact, and thrust his thighs up, pushing his erect shaft firmly against Tristan's mouth and nose.\n\nTristan held still, crouched on his paws and knees with his head between Chip's thighs, tail jutting straight out behind him. Through his muzzle, he seemed to be taking in a world of sensual physical detail; warmth, vibrant living warmth, pulsing and sliding against his mouth, as if he and Chip were literally connected together. It was the single most intimate thing he could ever remember feeling.\n\nTrembling, Chip began to gasp loudly. Tristan could sense the rat's body tensing. Then, with a squirm and a shudder, Chip thrust his hips forward and let out a high-pitched grunt. His penis slid past Tristan's lips, and for a moment the young fox felt something pulse underneath the taut skin of Chip's shaft. Chip's fingers were instantly clutched tightly around his penis and began to pound in a flurry of grey and pink. \n\nStartled, Tristan began to raise his head. As he moved, the end of Chip's penis slapped gently against Tristan's mouth, somehow hotter than it had been a moment ago. Though the contact was only for an instant, it seemed to Tristan that the heat of it was still on the end of his muzzle even after he'd hunkered back. Now he could see what Chip was doing, and his eyes went wide in alarm. The rat was thrusting his penis into his fist as though his life depended on it, his eyes squinted nearly shut and his muzzle twisted into a grimace that might have been pain or pleasure. Most surprising, though, was the volley of thick, gooey white ropes that glurched and spat from the tip of his cock. Each jet emerged with a wet squirting sound, arced briefly through the air, then splattered down onto his belly-fur in a smear of glistening ivory-colored strings. Tristan's nostrils were flooded with an almost overwhelming scent, sharp and metallic, like wet copper. \n\nHow long this actually lasted, Tristan could not have said. Hunkered there on the floor, knees buried in Chip's dirty laundry, adrenaline coursing through him, he seemed to see everything, right down to the individual hairs on the rat's sticky tummy. But just as suddenly as it started, the flurry of activity ceased. Chip's paw went from vigorous pounding to gentle nudging in the space of a few seconds, and his whole body seemed to go slack. The rat took in a deep breath, then let it sigh out through his nose, smiling wearily. Already, his penis had begun to soften, and the white fluid that had been shooting from the tip had tapered to a thick drool that puddled in the soft fur beneath his belly button. \n\nTristan was speechless. He wanted to ask a hundred questions, but they all seemed stopped up by his dumbfounded surprise at what had just happened. \n\n``Oh, dude,'' panted Chip. Tristan looked at Chip's face and was surprised to see a look of mild concern on it. ``You've got some... ah...''\n\nChip sat up and leaned forward. For a moment, Tristan nearly scurried back on his knees... had something bad happened? Chip was giving him an embarrassed smile now, and he gingerly reached a paw up toward Tristan's face. Tristan suddenly realized that he could still smell that sharp scent, as if his nostrils were saturated with it, and what's more... what's more, his nose was wet. His eyes went wide as he looked down at the end of his muzzle. Sure enough, there on the end of his nose was a thin slick of white goo. As he stared cross-eyed, he felt it start to dribble, warm and thick, down his nose and past his lips. His breath caught in his throat. \n\nHe heard Chip let out a quick, embarrassed little laugh. Then the rat's paw was at his nose, gently brushing and rubbing the slippery fluid from his muzzle. ``Sorry... here, let me get that off,'' he murmured as he plucked a green shirt from the floor and dabbed at Tristan's whiskers with it. Chip sounded exhausted. He was still panting, but even that was slowing down quickly. He looked immensely pleased with himself. Tristan blinked, still not sure what to do. \n\nTristan realized after a few more moments that he still wasn't breathing. As Chip rubbed at his muzzle with the shirt, he popped his mouth open and gasped in a breath. Immediately, his tongue seemed bathed in that wet coppery scent, swirling like hot mist down his throat. \n\n``Oh,'' he whispered softly. And then, for the first time in his life, he came.\n\n[center][i]To be continued...[/i][/center]\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "
The Firefly Club


By Stitch


Chapter 2



Tristan did not much care for Physical Education.

Not that he didn't enjoy sports, or that he minded a bit of roughhousing. No, what he didn't like about P.E. was they way everything was so rigidly structured... like soccer, for example. When he and his friends got together after school for an impromptu game in the park, the aim was not to follow all the rules and keep tabs on who was winning... the thing was simply to try and steal the ball, and then to run like mad across the lawn, kicking and punting it in front of you until somebody else came along and stole it. Then you got to try and steal it back again. Scoring a goal was nice, but it wasn't the point - it was really about running and feeling the ball thumping against your foot when you kicked it, laughing and yelling and smelling the fresh-cut grass, and then going home to eat cream cheese and raspberry jam sandwiches with your friends.

The school coaches, however, seemed fixated on the notion that the only single thing that counted was who won. According to school protocol, those who did win were presumed to have earned some great but ephemeral honor, while those who lost were supposed to simply work harder. Tristan found that this attitude completely sapped the joy out of the sport. If the only moment that really counted was the fleeting one at the very end when the score was tallied, then the act of playing became just another chore.

Because of this, Tristan was not a bad soccer player, but neither was he an exceptionally good one. Often during P.E. he found his thoughts drifting to other things, like movies and food and what he might get up to that weekend. On this particular day, he spent the whole game thinking about pizza. By the time the coach's shrill whistle blew, he was practically drooling, so intense were his fantasies of gooey melted cheese, zesty tomato sauce flecked with little green herbs, salty catfish pepperoni crisped reddish-brown around the edges, thin white circles of onion, juicy chunks of fishball sausage, tender slices of grey mushroom, and tiny wisps of hot steam rising from a freshly-pulled slice... it was agony. For all his fantasizing, of course, his family was probably going to have baked squash for dinner, or leftover tuna casserole or something. He could hear his belly rumbling.

Actually, he mused, that was another example of the changes going on inside him as of late - he couldn't seem to keep his stomach full. With a heavy sigh, he trudged across the grass playing field toward the huge grey locker room, hardly noticing the other cubs around him in their matching green shorts and t-shirts with silver silhouettes of soaring falcons printed on them. He idly watched the black-furred tip of a meerkat cub's long, tapered tail swishing back and forth through the air in front of him. Ahead, the P.E. building loomed like a giant prison complex... the addition of a shamrock racing stripe and that zooming shadow-falcon painted along the side of the tan-bricked structure had not particularly added any charm.

Haphazardly, the cubs began to march in through the open double doors, their matching white grass-stained sneakers clumping loudly against the damp grey concrete floor. The inside of the male's locker room was surprisingly large, a single vast open space lit by row after row of softly humming fluorescent lights hanging from the twenty-foot-high ceiling. Once inside, the cubs made their way past a row of brightly illuminated, multicolored vending machines that dispensed Fizz Pop, Cocoa Snappy Bars and sticks of Butterscotch Crackle, then around a corner and into a long central corridor that led down a complex network of tall tan-painted metal lockers. Every semester, it always took Tristan nearly two weeks to firmly memorize where his one was in that jumble of alcoves and alleyways.

He made his way around another corner, then walked down a narrow passageway lined by tall skinny lockers, until he reached number 717, his own. As he spun the black dial on his padlock, he sucked his teeth in annoyance and wished that he'd been lucky enough to have P.E. sixth period instead of fifth. It would have been nice to simply slip back into his regular clothes, then grab a Snappy Bar and head freely out into the afternoon sunshine. Usually after school he met up with Rocko by the edge of the school's parking lot, and then the two of them would walk home, taking the long way through nearby Copperwood Park. As it stood, however, he had just enough time to take a quick shower and then head off to Economics class, where he would doubtless join his fellow students in a dazed stupor for the next hour. Plus, his fur would be damp.

Ah, well, at least the showers had hot water this semester.

Tristan undid the button over his tail, then slid out of his shorts and underwear, blushing under his fur as he did so, though he knew it was foolish to be embarrassed. After all, everybody else taking a shower would be naked, too and he'd done this hundreds of times before. Still, there was something about standing there completely nude, his bare feet on the cold concrete floor, surrounded by narrow lockers in an enormous chilly room with a bunch of other bare cubs, that was inescapably awkward.

He remembered back to his first semester in the fourth grade, when showers became mandatory. There had been that first embarrassing time, when he and a bunch of other cubs had stood in front of the spigots and white-tiled shower columns, their towels wrapped tightly around their middles, all of them staring at the walls and wondering if there was any possible way out of there.

Eventually, a couple of the bolder cubs had sloughed off their towels and stood naked in the cool fluorescent light. Tristan still remembered the sensation as he'd followed suit, the way his fluffy blue towel had felt as it slid away from his fur, the soft flow of air over his naked body from the overhead ventilation. More than that, though, he was keenly aware of his complete exposure, and also the quick flitting of his schoolmates' eyes as they all tried not to look at each other and failed.

Tristan shivered and shook himself out of his memories. Reaching into his locker, he plucked out his towel, wrapped it around his middle, and shut his locker. Then he turned and made his way back to the central corridor.

The showers were all located in the very back of the locker room on a long platform of white non-skid tile lined on one side with a six-inch upraised border to keep the water from spilling out onto the floor. There were seven tall, rectangular white-tiled columns, each two feet thick, and each with four steel spigots sticking out of the sides. Twenty-eight spigots in all, though as always, two were broken. Half of them were already taken when Tristan got there.

The air was hot and damp, smelling of mildew, disinfectant, and various flavors of wet fur. The cubs in the showers scrubbed at themselves briskly, their soapy feet slapping wetly against the tiles. Tristan slipped his towel off and wadded it up onto a nearby wooden bench, then stepped over the upraised border and stood underneath the nearest available spigot.

There was a pudgy beaver cub standing on the other side of the column. His brown fur, which reminded Tristan of the color of dark chocolate ice cream, was already thick with white suds. Like all beavers, this one's long front teeth tended to poke out from under his upper lip; Tristan had often wondered if they were annoyed by this. He didn't know any beavers, so he couldn't ask to find out.

The beaver caught him glancing his way and gave him a quick smile, turning ever so casually to the side to try and obscure his soap-covered genitals. Tristan put on his own casual face, as if he walked around naked all the time. He turned on the hot water and moved to stand under the stream. Just out of the corner of his eye, he caught the beaver sneaking a quick, covert peek at him.

As Tristan felt his fur go sopping wet, he reached for the soap dispenser that was bolted to the tiles at chest-level and squirted several thick dollops of blue goo into his palm. Spreading his fingers out through his fur, he rubbed it in down to his skin, wrinkling his nose at the weird scent the school's soap had. It smelled something like a coconut that had been stuffed with pineapple-scented urinal cakes, but at least it wasn't that granulated powdery stuff that left residual pink particles in your fur.

As he quickly scrubbed his fingertips through his fur, he listened to the other cubs slapping their feet in the water and did his best not to look directly at them. Tristan had long thought it was peculiar that, while the other male cubs spent their gym hours engaged in loud sexually-themed bravado, constantly bragging about the enormity of their genitals and making jokes about their incredible prowess, everyone turned into an awkward, bashful wuss once the clothes actually came off. Like Tristan, most of them masked their insecurity with feigned casualness, but a few went for brash, obnoxious humor instead... even now, some hyperactive cougar standing not far from Tristan was smacking his sopping rear end and loudly inviting his coyote friend to `cornhole' him. Tristan wasn't about to go there himself - he knew that there was a strange, dangerous dividing line between joking and not-joking, and woe to the cub who tripped over it.

Tristan continued to work his fingers through his fur, down his chest and belly. He could feel the soap suds dribbling in thick clumps down the underside of his sheath. Blushing under his fur again, he stood back and let the water stream against his belly, then gave his genitals a lightning-quick pat down. That was another thing, in addition to not looking at the other cubs in the shower... you weren't even supposed to look at yourself, or spend more than a split second touching down there. Otherwise, some smart-ass would accuse you of playing with yourself, and then you'd be the butt of a bajillion jack-off jokes for the rest of your life.

That was the crowning hypocrisy, actually. Tristan had, like most male cubs his age, discovered that there was much pleasure to be had in touching himself. Most of his late-night explorations ended in a giddy orgasm, a strangled grunt and a flurry of paw-strokes over his throbbing, spurting penis. He would have bet real money that that was exactly what every one of these other cubs were doing under their sheets at night, too. Why was it, then, that everyone reacted to charges of masturbation with horror and loud denial? Like you were never supposed to have done it, even once.

Not that he actually wanted to go around bragging about it, of course. As far as Tristan was concerned, part of the thrill of playing with himself was that it was purely private, something he did just for himself, with no need for any outside approval of the fantasies and desires that played out in his mind while he did it. Still... why was something that felt so good, and that everybody was doing all the time anyway, supposed to be this terrible thing?

`Anyway, who in their right mind would jerk off at school?' he mused. He could think of many places he'd rather do it than in the locker room showers. In point of fact he had done it in a few unlikely locations: A couple of times down in the creek near the foothills, in a shallow ditch behind some thick oak roots; once behind the tool shed in his own back yard; once even at Berry's house during a sleepover, his climax aimed hastily into the bathroom sink. By and large, though, he preferred to do it just before going to sleep, tucked away under his heavy warm blankets with the window shade closed and a little tin of lilac-scented cold cream within easy reach on top of his dresser.

Like many cubs before him, Tristan had learned how to play with himself through instruction by a trusted friend. In his case it had been a young coffee-brown rat named Wendel who had first shown him how to do it. He and Wendel had been friends since the second grade, starting on a day Tristan had been without lunch money and the little rat had offered to share half of his prawn salad sandwich with him. Since then, they had spent countless hours prowling around the park near the creek, climbing trees, plotting to build rocket-ships, and engaging in many thousands of other such vitally important cub-hood pursuits.

Last autumn, Tristan remembered, as they had been playing in Wendel's back yard, the young rat had set aside his toy car and given Tristan a long and peculiar look. ``Hey, Tris,'' he'd finally said. ``Have you ever had an orgasm?''

Tristan had blinked in surprise, then struggled to regain his composure. In truth, he had not, but the sexual politics of the playground dictated that by the age of twelve, one should already be claiming to have a full harem of attractive female love slaves. Orgasm? Wasn't that what happened when you `did it'? Something to do with sperms swimming out of you? ``Yeah, sure,'' he'd lied.

Wendel had smiled and preened his long, bristly milky-grey whiskers proudly. ``Cool. Me too.'' They'd played with Wendel's cars a little longer. Tristan found himself feeling strange... Wendel had had an orgasm? When? How? After a few more minutes, he set his own toy car down.

``So, did you... ah, `do it' with someone?''

Wendel gave him another peculiar look before snickering. ``No,'' he replied, and Tristan was just starting to think he'd asked a very stupid question when Wendel leaned forward and whispered in a confidential tone: ``I masturbated.''

``Oh,'' replied Tristan.

``Chip showed me how,'' Wendel continued in that secretive soft tone. He was referring to his older brother Chip, who was 15 years old and tall, his fur a creamy brown, like hot cocoa with almond milk splashed in it. Tristan didn't know Chip very well, but he seemed like a typical big-brother: His bedroom was covered with posters of baseball players and rock stars, and he could often be heard practicing his guitar in the garage with his buddies.

Wendel gave Tristan another funny look. ``You know how to do that, right?''

``Well, yeah, I... guess so.'' Tristan was fascinated by the implications of the conversation, but all the same he felt like he was getting in over his head. Why didn't they teach this kind of stuff in school?

But Wendel just smiled his usual friendly smile. ``Aw, it's easy. You just squeeze hold of your dick with your paw and... you know, hump it.'' For emphasis, he held up his paw with his fingers curled in a circle and moved it back and forth in the air.

``Yeah?''

``Yeah.'' Wendel leaned very close and murmured in Tristan's ear. ``It feels really good.''

``Cool,'' replied Tristan with a wide-eyed nod. Somehow he felt as though he'd just been given something truly valuable, like finding a key to a secret door. This information was leading him into uncharted waters, places that he'd only recently learned the existence of.

Wendel set his car down again and stood up. He stretched his arms up toward the cloudy sky, whiskers fanning out from the sides of his pointed muzzle. ``Come on,'' he said as he gestured toward the house's back door. ``I'll show you.''

<><><><><><><><><><>


Tristan was startled out of his memories by a sudden squawk from one of the nearby cubs. Jerking his head up from the white-tiled floor where he'd been staring, he saw that the cougar and coyote were trying to slap each other in the butt with their small green `Falcons' washcloths.

``You sissy bitch!'' laughed the cougar as he flicked the end of his sopping rag at his friend, just missing by a hair. The tip of the washcloth snapped loudly and sprayed the coyote's backside with water. They laughed loudly, then abruptly stifled their enthusiasm... everybody knew that roughhousing in the showers was a good way to get one of the coaches in to yell at everybody, followed by an impromptu round of push-ups. ``Your mamma, ass-clown,'' replied the coyote as he moved to stand back under the stream of water. The cougar shot him the finger, and the two of them laughed again.

As Tristan turned his attention back to his own shower, he briefly caught the eye of the beaver cub again. Tristan put on an exasperated face and rolled his eyes. He was pleased when the beaver broke into a shy little grin.

Tristan began to stroke his belly-fur, squeezing the soap suds out of it. He wondered idly if the coyote and cougar had ever actually `done it', or maybe touched each other or something. He conjured up a quick mental image of the two of them sitting next to each other on a grubby couch in a basement, their shorts and boxers down around their ankles, a cheesy bootleg porno flickering on an old TV in front of them, both of them frantically jerking each other off and then awkwardly laughing it away later as no big deal - because, you know, they were totally thinking about girls the whole time. Of course, this hypothetical scenario had probably never happened... but on the other paw, those two did spend an awful lot of time harassing each other about that kind of stuff.

Kind of like how he and Berry and Rocko joked around, now that he thought about it... except somehow it seemed different with his friends. He couldn't quite put his finger on what that difference was, but he knew it was there. Maybe it was because there was something kind of mean and mocking in the way guys like the cougar and the coyote teased each other - at the very least, none of his own friends had ever tried to hit him in the butt with a washcloth while calling him an `ass-clown'.

As he scrubbed, he found his memories drifting back to that day with Wendel, and what had happened in Chip's room.

<><><><><><><><><><>


He and Wendel had gone back into the house, leaving their toy cars outside. It was overcast, but putting the toys away would take time, and suddenly it seemed like there was no time to waste. Tristan felt a wild flutter in his belly, the same feeling he got just before a soccer game with his friends, or on the morning of his birthday. He knew that Wendel's parents were both out of the house, and would be away for hours. Whatever his rat friend wanted to show him, they should have plenty of time and privacy.

They walked through the kitchen, where a pair of crumb-speckled pale-blue plastic plates still sat on the little wooden table beside the porch window. They'd had grilled cheese sandwiches, which always tasted better at Wendel's house for some reason. They strode past the fridge, then around the corner and into the spacious living room, with it's soft cushy brown carpet, comfy white sofas, little end tables with potted plants sprouting out of them, and the coolest thing in the house: Wendel's dad's giant TV. Many, many hours had been spent laying on the floor in front of that huge glass screen, playing video games and watching creepy movies.

Heading around the hallway corner, they were both suddenly startled to find themselves face to face with Chip. The older rat was coming down the hall holding a black mesh bag full of dirty laundry. As usual, Chip was wearing a baseball cap that had the sides trimmed to accommodate his large pink ears, as well as a loosely fitting red t-shirt and baggy blue pants.

``Hey, dork-meister,'' said Chip to his little brother. Tristan felt his heart sink. He'd thought they had the house to themselves, but with Chip around there was no guarantee of privacy, so Wendel probably wouldn't want to do anything. They'd end up parked in front of the TV watching a movie while Chip hovered around.

``I thought you were at practice,'' said Wendel.

``Nah, Tony's drum machine is still busted. I figured I'd just come home and do stuff.''

Tristan sucked his teeth in annoyance. Now that the impromptu `masturbation' lesson had been interrupted, he wanted more than anything to try it. True, Wendel had told him the basics, and he could try it out at home later - but the thought of seeing his friend doing it was half the reason he'd been excited. In all the years he'd known Wendel (five, but that seemed an eternity to Tristan), he'd only seen his rat friend fully naked a pawful of times. Now, with Chip standing there in the way, he felt the opportunity slipping away.

``Heya, Tris,'' said Chip, startling him a little.

Tristan blinked. ``Mm? Hey, Chip.''

``You guys getting into trouble?'' Chip smiled, then did something he'd never done before... he reached out and ruffled the fur between Tristan's ears.

Tristan bowed his head, blinking again in surprise, then stared quizzically at Chip. Wendel simply chuckled.

``Yeah,'' said Wendel. ``We're gonna go and masturbate.''

Tristan felt his heart practically stop cold in his chest. Had he just heard Wendel tell his big brother what he thought he'd just heard? His eyes popped wide, certain that Chip was about to run laughing into the streets.

Instead, the taller rat smirked at them and asked: ``Yeah? Feeling frisky today, are ya?'' Tristan remembered then what Wendel had said, that Chip was the one who taught him in the first place. Relief flooded through him... all the same, he still felt more than a little awkward.

``Tris doesn't know how yet, so I'm gonna show him.''

Tristan flushed hot under his fur, but again Chip just smiled and shrugged. ``That's cool. Better sooner than later. My buddy Benji didn't figure it out `til he was almost fourteen, poor sap. His balls were probably past blue and all the way into purple.'' Chip slung his laundry bag over his shoulder. ``Actually, I'm kinda pent up, myself. Mind if I tag along?''

Wendel shrugged and looked at Tristan.

Tristan blinked. ``Uh... cool?''

``Excellent,'' said Chip. Then he leaned forward and added, ``'Cause I have had a dangerous-wicked stiffie all day, I'm not even fooling.'' Both he and Wendel laughed. Chip moved to walk around them. ``Tell you what, go in my room. I'm gonna get these shirts going, then I'll be right there.''

``Okay,'' said Wendel. ``Do you still have the CJ?''

``In my sock drawer.'' Chip strode briskly down the hall and around the corner, presumably making his way to the laundry room.

Wendel gently pulled on Tristan's sleeve and began to walk toward Chip's bedroom door. Tristan followed, feeling somehow like a tourist in a strange new land, rather than just in his friend's familiar house.

``CJ?'' asked Tristan softly, unconsciously using a secretive, confidential tone of voice.

``You'll see,'' replied Wendel with a knowing smile.

The inside of Chip's bedroom was controlled chaos, a wild scattering of dirty laundry, clean laundry, magazines, paperbacks, rolled up posters on the floor, and a lot of random knick-knacks, most of which were sports-themed. On the walls hung several posters of baseball heroes, as well as a few cheaply-framed pictures of rock stars. His ceiling, too, was decorated with posters, all thumb-tacked in, some ripped. Over his rumpled bed was a black-light picture of a dragon swooping down, its ridiculously over-sized claws outstretched... it looked like the sort of thing you'd win at a carnival for popping some half-inflated balloons with a rusty dart. The air was stale and sort of rodenty - obviously the window near the lone overstuffed bookshelf didn't get opened much.

Wendel made a beeline for the large wooden chest of drawers beside the bookshelf and slid open the top. Inside was an explosion of unmatched, color-striped tube socks. The young rat reached in and plucked out a small, clear plastic jar with a blue label on the front that read `MacGill's All-Natural Coconut Jelly for Sensitive Skin'. There was some kind of semi-opaque whitish goo inside, and Tristan could see that the jar was half-empty.

``CJ,'' said Wendel as he held up the jar for Tristan to see. ``That's what Chip and me call it.'' Tristan stood in the middle of the room, feeling nervous and excited.

Wendel set the jar of `CJ' down on the floor and pulled off his shirt. ``Leave your clothes by the door, or you'll lose `em in here,'' he said, nudging a dirty pair of pants on the floor with his foot for emphasis.

Tristan nodded, eyes wide, and slipped out of his own shirt. Carefully, he set it down beside the bedroom door, in a lone clear spot among the clutter. When he turned around, his heart fluttered in his chest; Wendel had pulled his pants off too, and was starting to pull at the little underwear button over his tail-base. The young rat gave him a quick smile and pointed at Tristan's pale brown joggers, as if to say: `Come on, off with `em.'

As Tristan clumsily fumbled with his belt buckle, he watched Wendel undo the button in his snug white briefs, then hook his thumbs under the elastic and start to pull them down. The stretchy blue-banded material clung to the rat's thigh fur as it slid past, ruffling it. Then his underwear fell loose around his knees, and he kicked them off. Tristan stared with total fascination... he'd seen his friend in the buff before, but it had always been in quick little flashes. This was really the first time he felt that it was fully appropriate to have a good, long look at Wendel's soft, fuzzy parts.

Wendel, for his part, stood beaming with his paws on his naked hips, allowing his fox friend to take in all the naughty details. His sheath was tucked tightly up between his legs, a small fleshy round lump covered in a fine spray of creamy tan fur. His balls, which seemed surprisingly large, were nestled like a pair of fuzzy pink-skinned plums just below the base of his sheath... Tristan could make out another hint of bubblegum-colored skin just at the tip of it, almost the same shade as Wendel's long, fur-less tail.

Wendel smiled broadly, letting his long incisors poke out from under his lip. ``Impressive, wot? `Tis a rat thing,'' he said in a poor mock-Cockney accent. Tristan nodded in agreement, not sure what he should say. ``Come on, let's see yours.''

Tristan slid out of his pants, then undid his own underwear button. For a moment, his usual self-consciousness returned, and he almost froze in place with his thumbs hooked under the elastic. He could feel his tail-base and the top part of his rump exposed to the air. But Wendel was still smiling expectantly, and the rat's nakedness made him feel a little more comfortable. With a single downward stroke, he slid his underwear off.

Tristan's own sheath was a bit longer than Wendel's, the end of it being more pointed. The very tip of it was fur-less, a little pink ring surrounded by a silky halo of soft red and white hair. The underside ran down between his legs, showing the firm outline of his penis, tucked down inside its warm fleshy enclosure. Below that, his balls were tucked away in a fuzzy, creamy-furred sac. He wondered what Wendel thought as the young rat looked him over.

``It's funny,'' said Tristan at last. ``A few nights ago I had a dream that I came to school like this.''

Wendel laughed. ``Doesn't look like you had anything to be ashamed of.''

Tristan felt his chest puff out at the flattery.

``Come on, lemme show you what to do...'' Wendel sat down on the edge of his brother's bed. Tristan shuffled across the room until he was standing in front of him. The young rat reached up between his own legs and began to gently rub at the end of his sheath. Tristan watched attentively, startled to see a sudden flash of dark pink poking up from the center of the fleshy opening.

Wendel pulled and nudged with his fingertips, then briskly stroked at the sides of his sheath. The tip of his penis, narrow-pointed and red as a strawberry ice pop, had popped free and was poking straight up at Tristan. Wendel leaned back on one paw and continued to rub at himself, until the sheath opened and length of his shaft slid out. It was longer than Tristan had expected, maybe a good five inches, which suddenly put the rat's large balls into their proper perspective. The very end of it was dark red in color, the shaft a little lighter and streaked with soft outlines of greyish-blue veins. The young rat's sheath opening encircled the very base of the shaft like the end of a snug pink sock that had pulled back.

Tristan watched closely as Wendel wrapped his fingers around his penis and began to nudge and pull at it, slowly at first. After a few seconds it stiffened in his grip and began to swell. Now it was sticking straight out, the skin of it shiny and taut. Tristan could see the veins in it more clearly too.

Still leaning back, Wendel made a fist around the base of his penis and squeezed. The end of the shaft seemed to jerk against his fingers, and he grunted softly. As Tristan watched, the little slit at the very tip popped open, briefly exposing the inner part of Wendel's pee hole, moist and glistening.

``'Kay,'' said Wendel as he let go of his shaft and plucked up the jar of `CJ'. After unscrewing the metal lid, he dipped his finger in and scooped up a heavy cream-colored gob of thick goo. ``Here's what you do.'' Tristan watched as Wendel slicked up the length of his shaft, coating his fingers and the fur around his sheath with jelly. Then he made another tight fist at the base of his shaft and squeezed again. This time his penis slipped between his fingers with a slick, squicky sort of sound. Wendel's small grey thumb-claw traced a thin trail through the coconut jelly, and he re-adjusted his grip. ``You wanna be careful you don't scratch it,'' he murmured. ``Trust me on that one.''

Wendel stroked his erect penis for a half-minute or so, his fist working its way up and down the glop-smeared shaft. ``Just keep doing like this,'' he instructed. ``Now you try it.''

Tristan nodded, still staring down at Wendel. After a moment he knelt down and leaned back on his knees. He was surprised to see that his own penis had already slid halfway out and was poking up into the air... when did it do that? Scooping his own glob of jelly onto his fingertip, he smeared it gingerly along the underside of his shaft, shivering at the weird sticky-cool sensation while the sweet, vaguely tropical scent of it tingled softly in his nostrils. Aware that Wendel was watching him closely, he let his fingers slide around his penis and gave it a squeeze.

There was a soft squelching sound as the jelly mushed out from between his fingers. He nearly giggled... but then something strange happened to him. As he squeezed, he felt a sudden warmth ripple through his belly and thighs, and his penis shot fully out of his sheath faster than it ever had before. It slid against his paw and lay heavily in his palm, hot and slippery with coconut gel. He stared down at it in surprise, still feeling that odd warmth in his lower half. From his perch on the edge of the bed, Wendel chuckled softly.

Tristan felt a gust of wind flow over his back and tail as the door opened behind him. For a moment, he nearly panicked and scrambled to cover himself, until he realized that it was only Chip, coming to join them.

``Hey, squirts,'' said Chip as he shut the door behind them. Tristan turned to look over his shoulder and saw that Chip had already removed his shirt and was undoing his belt. ``Looks like you started without me.''

Wendel stood up, his feet thudding softly to the carpeted floor. For just a moment, the young rat's erect penis bobbed right in front of Tristan's face, close enough that he could have leaned forward and bumped it with his nose. Tristan felt his penis swell up even more in his palm. It was starting to get really hard, too, much harder than it usually did. It was getting so stiff the thin baculum bone in the center of his shaft seemed to ache.

Wendel scooted around him and off to the side. ``You want your bed, Chip?''

``Nah,'' said Chip as he stood looking down at Tristan. ``You can have it. I wanna do it on the floor.'' To Tristan's surprise, Chip reached out and pressed his fingertips into Wendel's belly-fur. ``Just don't jizz on my pillow, you dork,'' he added with a sleazy smile as he briefly gave Wendel's belly a quick rub with the flat of his outstretched paw. Wendel smiled back and reached up to ruffle the fur between Chip's large pink ears, his penis still slick and hard in the air. Chip looked down at Tristan, who was still hunkered on the floor with his erect penis throbbing in his paw.

Tristan looked back up at him, giddy with the barrage of new sensations and ideas that were flooding over him. Everything was happening so quickly...

 Chip smiled again and let out a low whistle. ``Damn, Wen, your buddy's cock is seriously raging, there,'' he said, arching the bristly whiskers over his eyes. ``Must be totally pent up.''

Tristan beamed proudly, practically shivering now with excitement. Somehow, Chip's approval of his penis was the single best compliment ever. Not a penis, actually... it was a cock. A crude word, yes, but what else would you call the swollen, tingling red shaft clutched in his trembling fingers?

Chip reached his foot out and gently scratched his toe claws against Tristan's leg, then turned his attention back to getting undressed while Wendel moved back to the bed and sat back down on the edge.

Tristan began to study his penis, twisting it from side to side for a better look. It had turned a dark red color, and he could see his own veins under the skin like faint traces of graphite. The sides of the shaft were swollen out, and at the base, his little rounded knot had popped free of its sheath. When he'd been younger, the knot was just a hard lump that slid in and out with ease, but lately he found that when it came free, the elastic pressure from his sheath would trap it and make it swell, hot and strangely over-sensitive to the touch. Sometimes it would take minutes to go back down again enough that he could re-sheath - but its warm pressure always seemed to linger deep inside him.

Now that it was out, his knot had engorged to what seemed like ridiculous proportions. He could feel the end of his sheath stretched about as far as it would go, and for a few moments he nearly panicked. What would he do if it wouldn't go back in? He'd have to spend the rest of his life hobbling around with a plum-sized lump in the front of his pants. How would he get out of mandatory showers in P.E.?

No, this was normal, he was almost sure of it. After all, every male canid had a knot, right? He remembered a book his dad had read to him about a year ago, something called `A Healthy Guide for Young Foxes' or some-such, and it had described this very thing. As they'd flipped through the pages, he had arched his eye-whiskers at the odd profile drawing of an erect fox penis and asked his dad: ``Doesn't that hurt?'' His dad had made a peculiar face, mouth pursing... it hadn't been until later that he'd realized his father had been trying not to laugh.

Tristan sighed deeply, forcing himself to calm down. Each little squeeze he gave his penis seemed to send a tickle of static electricity through his body. When he looked up, he saw that both Wendel and Chip were watching him, each with their own erections grasped in their paws. He felt a giddy little bubble rise up from his belly and burst out as a soft giggle. This was, he decided, the coolest thing ever.

Naked and hunkering down on the floor in front of Tristan, Chip broke into a grin and said: ``Feels good, right?''

Tristan nodded. On the bed, Wendel began to stroke his paw up and down against his shaft. ``Just do like this, see?''

Tristan leaned back and started to rub himself in the way that the two rats were doing. At first clumsy and fumbling, he quickly found that squeezing tightly and using his wrist to drag his fingers along the shaft gave him a delightful, constant pressure that made him want to... well, something.

Chip had set himself down onto his dirty laundry on the floor and was laying on his back. Tristan watched the older rat curiously. Chip's penis was much longer than his own, and smoother, the skin a dark shade of bubble-gum pink. It looked to be as hard as a soup bone, too.

Wendel, meanwhile, had flung himself back onto Chip's sheets and had begun masturbating furiously, his paw slipping up and down like a miniature piston. ``Nnnhff,'' he grunted.

Chip leaned up on his elbow and gave his brother a petulant frown. ``Quit trying so hard, doof. You're gonna give yourself a hernia.''

Wendel stuck his tongue out and continued to stroke himself, though Tristan noticed that he did slow down a little.

Tristan lay back on his rump, tucked his tail between his legs, and started to work his paw. Squeezing and pulling, squeezing and pulling, squeezing and pulling... he felt the muscles in his thighs begin to tighten and realized that he had unconsciously started to thrust his hips up, driving his penis into his fist in time with the stroking. With a soft gasp, he began to breathe through his mouth, propping his chin against his chest to look down at himself. At his feet, Chip lay with his legs spread, erection poking straight up, his delicate rat fingers working around the end of it.

They lay like that for ten minutes, maybe more, the only sounds in the room the loud huffing of their breathing and the sticky squelch of coconut jelly. Tristan continued to watch his paw jerk up and down, seemingly out of his control now. Yes, indeed, this did feel good. In point of fact, it felt great. He was discovering nerve endings he never even knew he had, all of them dancing with little hot tickles of pleasure at his touch. But somehow it was frustrating, too... it seemed like he could go on doing this forever, and enjoyable as it was, he was starting to feel anxious. His hips continued to hump away, pushing his rump up from the carpet, but there was something weird about his movements now. The muscles were quivering and tense, and what's more his tail-base was twitching, causing his bushy red and white tail to swish back and forth. There was so much nervous energy in him, he almost wanted to run naked out of the house and climb a tree or something.

Chip, he noticed, was likewise trembling. The older rat's penis had gone from dark pink to light red, and his balls had pulled up to tuck themselves tightly between his legs. Curious, Tristan reached his free paw down and cupped himself... sure enough, his own balls had done the same. Glancing down, he noticed Chip looking at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then broke into matching smiles.

Chip looked as though he were about to say something when Wendel snorted and announced: ``Dammit, I gotta pee.''

The younger rat swung his legs over the edge of the bed and thudded down onto the floor. His glistening penis jutted in front of him, and he seemed to be looking down at it with a frustrated pout. ``Hang on, gonna piss. Be right back.'' With that, he stomped across the floor, his shaft bobbing in the air, stepped right over Tristan's head, and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Tristan glanced at Chip, the both of them still stroking.

Chip rolled his eyes. ``He can't come,'' he whispered confidentially. ``I told him to ease up.''

Tristan arched his eye-whiskers curiously. Come? Come where?

Propping himself up on his elbow, Chip smiled at him. ``He's trying too hard, is all. I guess he wants to impress you.'' He leaned forward and glanced at the door, as if worried that Wendel could hear him. ``He's jerking off in the sink right now, probably with his finger all the way up his ass,'' he whispered. ``It's like his last resort, or something. He'll be in there for another five minutes, at least.''

There was something in the way Chip spoke those last words that made Tristan feel even more anxious, as if Wendel's absence made for a sudden and unexpected opportunity.

Chip was looking at Tristan intently, his black eyes gleaming in the dim light. Tristan stared back. The older rat stroked himself vigorously, his belly rising and falling as if he'd just run a mile. ``Like what you see?'' he asked through a toothy smile.

Tristan began to blush at his ear-tips, and was about to look away, but Chip spread his legs even further and humped his thighs up. ``It's okay, you can watch if you want,'' he said, voice quivering. Now Tristan could see, in addition to Chip's penis, sheath and balls, the small pink pucker of his anus exposed just above his thick tail-base. He wondered if Chip could see his own opening, and stroked even harder.

``Hey,'' whispered Chip urgently. ``You really wanna see something?'' Tristan leaned forward curiously, propping himself up on his elbow. Chip's voice sounded strained, and his whole body seemed to be trembling. Tristan was suddenly surprised to see a thin silvery bead of liquid appear at the tip of the rat's penis and dribble down the side, where it disappeared between Chip's fingers with a barely audible squelch. ``C'mere, it's okay...'' Chip gestured for Tristan to move closer with his free paw.

Heart thumping wildly in his chest, Tristan sat up, then scootched forward on his knees until he was hunkered on his haunches between Chip's legs, the rat's tail almost touching his rump. Chip's penis seemed enormous up close, swollen and red, the pointed tip poking into the air not a foot from his nose. He could see more of that clear stuff, like sticky water, trickling from the end of it, and now too there was a sharp scent in his nostrils, musky and raw. ``I'm gonna come,'' whispered Chip hoarsely, whiskers fanning out from his sharp muzzle as he smiled with pleasure.

Tristan watched attentively, not at all sure of what he was about to see. He felt something warm touching his balls, and realized after a moment that it was Chip's tail, brushing up between his legs.

``Closer...'' Chip whispered, almost pleading. ``Get closer...''

Now his heart felt like it was going to pop out of his chest and fly across the room. Hardly believing what he was doing, he lowered his head down between Chip's legs, inching closer and closer until his nose was all but an inch away from the underside of the rat's penis. He could feel the warmth radiating from the slick red skin, and the gentle whiff of air across his whiskers from the brisk stroking of Chip's fingers.

Chip stared at him, eyes gleaming like chips of black diamond, a tight grin on his furry grey face. When Tristan's nose was practically brushing the backs of his fingers, Chip suddenly adjusted his grip so that he was only touching the front and sides of his shaft, leaving the underside of it exposed.

Tristan instinctively understood the meaning of the gesture, and for a split second his head literally swam with excitement, as if he'd inhaled a balloon-full of helium. With a slow but deliberate nudge forward, he pressed his mouth against the slippery hot underside of Chip's penis, kissing the slick, sticky skin of his shaft. The rat gasped at the contact, and thrust his thighs up, pushing his erect shaft firmly against Tristan's mouth and nose.

Tristan held still, crouched on his paws and knees with his head between Chip's thighs, tail jutting straight out behind him. Through his muzzle, he seemed to be taking in a world of sensual physical detail; warmth, vibrant living warmth, pulsing and sliding against his mouth, as if he and Chip were literally connected together. It was the single most intimate thing he could ever remember feeling.

Trembling, Chip began to gasp loudly. Tristan could sense the rat's body tensing. Then, with a squirm and a shudder, Chip thrust his hips forward and let out a high-pitched grunt. His penis slid past Tristan's lips, and for a moment the young fox felt something pulse underneath the taut skin of Chip's shaft. Chip's fingers were instantly clutched tightly around his penis and began to pound in a flurry of grey and pink.

Startled, Tristan began to raise his head. As he moved, the end of Chip's penis slapped gently against Tristan's mouth, somehow hotter than it had been a moment ago. Though the contact was only for an instant, it seemed to Tristan that the heat of it was still on the end of his muzzle even after he'd hunkered back. Now he could see what Chip was doing, and his eyes went wide in alarm. The rat was thrusting his penis into his fist as though his life depended on it, his eyes squinted nearly shut and his muzzle twisted into a grimace that might have been pain or pleasure. Most surprising, though, was the volley of thick, gooey white ropes that glurched and spat from the tip of his cock. Each jet emerged with a wet squirting sound, arced briefly through the air, then splattered down onto his belly-fur in a smear of glistening ivory-colored strings. Tristan's nostrils were flooded with an almost overwhelming scent, sharp and metallic, like wet copper.

How long this actually lasted, Tristan could not have said. Hunkered there on the floor, knees buried in Chip's dirty laundry, adrenaline coursing through him, he seemed to see everything, right down to the individual hairs on the rat's sticky tummy. But just as suddenly as it started, the flurry of activity ceased. Chip's paw went from vigorous pounding to gentle nudging in the space of a few seconds, and his whole body seemed to go slack. The rat took in a deep breath, then let it sigh out through his nose, smiling wearily. Already, his penis had begun to soften, and the white fluid that had been shooting from the tip had tapered to a thick drool that puddled in the soft fur beneath his belly button.

Tristan was speechless. He wanted to ask a hundred questions, but they all seemed stopped up by his dumbfounded surprise at what had just happened.

``Oh, dude,'' panted Chip. Tristan looked at Chip's face and was surprised to see a look of mild concern on it. ``You've got some... ah...''

Chip sat up and leaned forward. For a moment, Tristan nearly scurried back on his knees... had something bad happened? Chip was giving him an embarrassed smile now, and he gingerly reached a paw up toward Tristan's face. Tristan suddenly realized that he could still smell that sharp scent, as if his nostrils were saturated with it, and what's more... what's more, his nose was wet. His eyes went wide as he looked down at the end of his muzzle. Sure enough, there on the end of his nose was a thin slick of white goo. As he stared cross-eyed, he felt it start to dribble, warm and thick, down his nose and past his lips. His breath caught in his throat.

He heard Chip let out a quick, embarrassed little laugh. Then the rat's paw was at his nose, gently brushing and rubbing the slippery fluid from his muzzle. ``Sorry... here, let me get that off,'' he murmured as he plucked a green shirt from the floor and dabbed at Tristan's whiskers with it. Chip sounded exhausted. He was still panting, but even that was slowing down quickly. He looked immensely pleased with himself. Tristan blinked, still not sure what to do.

Tristan realized after a few more moments that he still wasn't breathing. As Chip rubbed at his muzzle with the shirt, he popped his mouth open and gasped in a breath. Immediately, his tongue seemed bathed in that wet coppery scent, swirling like hot mist down his throat.

``Oh,'' he whispered softly. And then, for the first time in his life, he came.

To be continued...


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