Louis lay in bed, as any boy his age did at that time of night. He wasn't sleeping yet, though. Near it. His dick was in the process of calming down for the night after what felt like the phallic equivalent of priming a big, satisfying 255mm ground pounding artillery round of a moneyshot, in what felt like a violent emission into tissue. In truth, it was far more satisfying than it was voluminous in spunk, but it didn't matter if he was average- He FELT like a champion, and he was just gonna remember it how it was. 

	There was just nothing like a good orgasm to send a boy to sleep. Something he'd figured out for himself curiously young, dry firing and playing with himself long before he could actually successfully shoot. The hyper sticky, translucent pre-cum from the only bit of his internal anatomy that was functioning at the time, with just the tiniest hints of what was his birthright. Short of a mouthful of cookies or a good soak in the tub, this was as intense a pleasure as he got in his short life, and even without understanding it, it was everything his body silently promised to him for a payoff. And he'd been doing it as far back as he could remember. Long enough that most of the other boys in his peer group didn't understand what he was talking about when he mentioned the ecstasy of finishing with your dick.

	And yet, for some reason, he instinctively, intuitively knew not to bring it up to his parents. And why not? Well... Because for some reason, the subject felt repellant to him. Like being naked around them always felt wrong. He knew by now, they likely understood their boy could masturbate. But as he thought about just how long he'd been able to go at it, his memories told the uncomfortable goat kid they had to've known for longer than anyone in this family was willing to admit. If only by smell, alone. But, he didn't want to think about that. They never said anything, trusting him to take care of it. And he never brought it up, somehow just knowing it was not their concern. It was funny how that worked. Was it cultural, or heredity? He didn't know. Probably one of those questions you don't ask a public school teacher. 

	But as he lay back, eyes shining with the acute night vision of his age and breed, looking up at the artificial and natural stars, first on his ceiling glowing their green-yellow luminous hue and the white dots peeking through the cloudless skies out his window, he came back to the question. Trying to remember, just how long a good wank had been part of his routine? It seemed like forever. But, surely, that couldn't have been true. That wasn't how biology worked. Not for most people. No one was born fully able to masturbate to completion, but how far back could he remember, really? Idly holding his balls, he let his eyes drift shut while the backburner of his mind pondered this archival question, with the rest becoming a blissful, tranquil flatness. A neutrally, perfectly warm void engulfed him into its fuzzy embrace.

	Louis woke up in motion, of a sort. His skin and muscles told him like some sort of inertial navigation sensor that he was moving, and then he realized he was stuck in some sort of autopilot. Unconscious, jogging through this impossible darkness. Extending his perceptions and trying to understand the stimulus, he felt what could only have been some sort of tall grass whipping passed his hocks and thighs. The smell of the grains, the white noise of the breeze running through this strange field. Was he running from something? No, he determined it wasn't that sort of a situation, gazing back and focusing on the world he'd passed through. Not even a hint of motion, in the ambient dark, no hint of sounds of frantic pursuit. Not even the ominous presence of danger, real or phantasmic, hung. Save, an unusual sense of a familiar presence he was leaving behind. It was too dark to see them, but he could feel the ominous eyes gazing out at him in the darkness as he made greater and greater distance away from them. 

	He couldn't feel too bad about leaving them behind, whomever they were supposed to be. He could feel he had somewhere to be, but he wasn't quite sure exactly where he was going, or what he'd be doing just yet. Instead, he took greater, proactive control over his own mobility as he looked forwards again, traveling through this twilit sky with the dew of the natural world shining on his greyish-cream hide like stars in the sky. Naked as a jay bird, the droplets of plant touched water beading and falling from his hide as quick as they were added. Never an especially muscular boy compared to his peers, just a wiry and tough one, he raced with a kind of second nature through the dark plains, glimmering with reflected starlight like a native of an exotic planet, kicking up puddles of recent rainwater.

	And it's then Louis realized, while it felt like he was giving greyhounds a run for their money, it only felt that way because he was so small. Relative to the normal size of a pre-teen, he felt uncoordinated and stubby again. Spatial awareness out of sorts, but somehow natural. The way only dreams can square circles, and reconcile the impossible. Far more grey than creamy at this age, just four, maybe as much as five years his junior. Shorter proportions, a little chubbier than he'd grown into. He remembered it. Remembered being it, in a way that's only really second nature when one sleeps, and has that heavy, delirious filter like a sweet drowsiness clouding over your senses.

	He could hear the sounds of the bog. The sounds of frogs and the insects they fed on, and the more he paid attention to it, the more vividly he could perceive even the unseen woodland creatures living their lives around the sources of water. From wriggly worms, to winged and exoskeletal bugs, to mice and snakes and nocturnal birds. None of them seemed to pay him any mind, however. And he, similarly, minded his business. None seemed to be in between his trajectories, what luck. 

	"Louis." Called a maternal sounding voice. One that he definitely recognized was no maternal figure that he ever knew, in his life. Still, maternal was a trait, not a characteristic purely of your mother. Eyes widening, he stepped up his pace and raced towards that invisible beacon in the dark that seemed to be calling to him. Both his flippy listeners lifted, beyond simply catching the breeze and doing their usual turbulence and momentum based bobbing and bouncing, tilting and going as rigid as they could to try and hear more of that luscious, enchanting voice again.

	"Louis." The feminine voice patiently repeated, different from the first, but as close to the same as she was capable of making. It was like the universe was playing Marco Polo. He felt the gradual change in the coming foreground as he started to scale up a lazy slope, out of the lush, wet bog. He could feel with every fifty paces how the grass got shorter and shorter to the ground. Saw in the distance, like an almost cubic monolith, a home in this blinding dark. The angle of the steep roof, wider and longer than it was truly square. The water reflecting the light of the stars in the moonless sky above.

	It didn't feel like coming home again, but it didn't have the alien sensation of the unknown, either. Louis' ghostly eyes shone in the darkness like two lit iceflows in a dark harbor, as he raced up a weathered set of wooden and stone stairs, up onto the porch of the house. It was a lived in abode, but not decrepit. Aged, perhaps. Sturdy, healthy, yet very, very old. And there, on the porch, between the ancient wooden benches built into the guard rails and the house proper, was the door. A lacquered thing, with a tarnished brass handle, round and bearing the mark for a key. 

	Louis didn't even have time to realize he didn't have a way to open it by himself, before he felt the mechanisms shift and turn inside of the device, and then the knob twisted. The door opened outwards, offering the same darkness that awaited him on the outside, without the warm, all watching gaze of the glowing sky above to shine on the world and illuminate the substance. It was an unknownm, but a smiling, warm unknown. An unknown that knew him quite well, by the sounds. It was funny, but it felt no different from any other time he was introduced to someone else that knew his parents, and they looked upon him fondly with a name to match stories heard. Someone else that seemed to know all about him, and yet he knew not a thing about them. A day ending in day, for a kid.

	"Louis," Called the voice again. No further away than it had been, half the mile earlier. "Come in." 

	And so, after feeling his cardiovascular system, so quickened and vigorous by whatever effects of this dream endowed him, start to even itself out, he did as he was beckoned and walked into the den of his hostess. 

	It was minimally lit by tiny candles and oil lamps, protectively guarded by metal mesh and glasses. Dim. The itty bitty fires and their glow cast that traditional warm yellow to bathe the interior of the house in, and even then, the best Louis could do was navigate what he assumed was furniture, flooring and a fireplace. Turning from the big hearthe in the wall to the couch, he finally laid eyes upon the one that'd invited him to this little oasis in nowhere, this cottage core proprietress. 

	He had no expectations, but what he beheld still surprised him. The figure was, indeed, unmistakably feminine. The way his nose sang the sensation to him, demonstrating the binary of sex, combined with the dimorphism of humanoid bodies, even if she lacked the presence of breasts of any sort beneath her feathers, this was indisputably a female. Whether they defined as one or not, he didn't quite know yet. The way her relaxed eyes gazed over athim, dark and wet surfaces shining with reflected candle light over a beak that set the corners of her mouth into a smile, he doubted she was anything but. Lazed out on the couch, leaning against the armrest to his right, and her left. One leg crossed over the other, slowly bouncing the one laid atop and stretching her talons. One arm up on the rest, the other drumming very round, nailless tips against her naked, feathered thigh. Her feathers bore a dark of night, glossy, almost invoking a polished obsidian mosaic of tiles at certain angles, but an opaque, dark modesty as all but certain light reflecting edges. The occassional, tiny pinpoints of pristine white flashed on those feathers, like the white fissures in black marble. 

	They exchanged glances in the dark. It felt to Louis like an awkward eternity, to be studied as he was in the darkness. She could see him fully. Every snitching dew drop on his fur illuminated him in the warm light of the candles, creating many reflective surfaces to see. Every shape and contour of his flesh, from his slender chest, to his slight puppyfat belly, down to his bare crotch and thighs. The metallic dots of his freckled hide, at this year looking more grey than creamy, like little speckled landmarks on curvesand facades. 

	"I've been expecting you, boy." She said, affection in her tone. She seemed too young for it, but it was almost grandmotherly. Maybe she wasn't. He could not place the ages of bird-folk well. Stepping towards her, he stopped in front of the couch and inspected her, as she did him. A short lived exchange, as she gently patted her thigh. Near absent of thje sounds of contact, marked more by the sway of lush feathers than meat. An invitation, but one Louis chose not to emply, just yet. "But admittedly, not for a few years, yet." She chuckled, squinting her dark lids and craning her neck forwards. Not much. Louis was half expecting her to demonstrate some sort of heron-esque neck elongation, but alas, it was not to be.

	"Expecting me?" Louis replied, surprising himself with how much higher and more juvenile his tone of voice was. A mere four, maybe five years made such a difference in resonance and tone. He'd forgotten just what life was like before nearing the event horizon of puberty. This implied that she knew he was coming. Not even he knew that, until he was doing it. A question she nodded to sagaciously, corners of her lips beyond that solid beak just growing all the larger.

	Reaching behind herself, she produced a bath towel. A simple, dark blue thing that looked oh, so fluffy. Warmed by her body, she spread it out and then again beckoened for him. "Come now," She encouraged, "Can't have you soaked to the bone all night." 

	Louis realized he was curiously easint towards her like a mouse on a conveyor belt, towards an uncertain fate. He barely had time to bleat, before she seized him up with surprising dexterity and strength, as though he weigh no more than a paper doll, and set him in her lap. Vigorous, practiced rubs down his dew soaked hide with the towel, which was unrelenting in how it gulped up the liquid in his dense caprine fur. He was not naturally as oily as his many ovine cousins were, but he was not absent of it. Not as much as his father, at any rate. With a bit of light, flustered fussing, Louis managed to stop wiggling enough to relax once his benefactress lifted the towel away, absolutely soaked with moisture, and Louis felt as dry as if he'd sat before a fire for an hour. 

	Pouting up at her as he found himself comfortably in her lap, resting his hooved feet off the couch and on her legs. It was remarkable how little either of them cared about eachothers nudity, until the bird damsel tossed the towel over her shoulder and rest her arms around his waist. Then, her beak found itself resting atop his head, sliding between the little nubs of his horns ever so slightly hinting from under his unbelievable head of fluffy hair. Ensconsed in warm feathers and feminine arms, he leaned back against her chest and belly, resting his palms on her outer thighs, close to her hips. This was comfy.

	"You are so much like your father." The bird woman sighed, sounding as exasperated as she was amused. "It's so funny, it hurts. The apple barely budged from this orchard." Voice broken up by a giggle, of a joke that only seemed to resonate with herself. Louis just glanced upwards at her with his peripheral vision. 

	"You know my dad?" Louis whispered. It didn't surprise him much. He didn't have to run naked through a field in a starry twilit dream to find people that knew his dad. Though, he had to admit, finding people in a starry twilit dream that knew his dad was a magnitude more impressive than a living person he'd just never met before.

	"I know your dad." She affirmed with her tone, smothering all question out of it. "And I know your grandpa- Your father's father." So matter of factly. Louis' eyes bulged as he considered the implications of this. But she didn't stop there. "And I knew your grandpa's grandpa." 

	That got Louis crooking a brow, returning his attention from the middle distance of lost on his own thoughts to the pointy tip of her beak floating over his field of vision again. "And your grandpa's, grandpa's, grandpa." 

	Louis processed that, trying to calculate just how many decades that would be. He thought his grandfather was still alive, but cozily in his early 60s by now. His grandpa's father? Had to be at least a decade and a half.. at least, older than that. And presumably, his grandpa's grandpa, another thirty years beyod him still. Combined, that was nearly one hundred and fifty years of goat patriarchs. Easily. Louis' eyes bulged out, but skepticism reined him in.

	"Are you a witch?" He asked, surprising even himself. Where did THAT come from? A question she chuckled at in response, the sort of ambiguous noise one produces when answering in any sort of way would be telling. Even not answering, if you were clever enough to consider it. Louis was not a smart boy, most of the time, but there was a certain cunning there. He decided not to pursue the question any further, entirely voluntarily. All while she lifted her chin and beak and took to stroking through his soft hair, untouched by the effects of puberty, just yet. 

	"I mind the health of young men, Louis." The funny bird woman said, soft digits gliding over his scalp, playing over his oh so hair trigger ears just to watch them flicka flick. "That is my purpose. That is my joy." Her voice greater than a whisper, but low eough to be heard only against his ears. Despite himself, he couldn't feel apprehensive or nervous around her. She was just too comfortable, despite outwardly having the appearance of a silk wrapped ballerina, more than a plush place to rest. "That you've come to see me so soon has me so curious. Is it a mistake, or may be you're just an early riser?" 

	Louis wasn't entirely sure what that meant. Tilting his head back now that he was able, inspecting her face as she tilted her head sideways to peer back down at him, one eye to two. No comprehension was seen on that fuzzy face. She chortled and pressed a palm to his chest, fingers spreading. "When a boy comes of age, I examine them. I take note of how well they're developed, I gauge their progress, and I fasc-.. encourage, certain endowed ability." Her fingers smoothing over his belly fur, giving his ribs a grope and his abs a tickle. A motion he couldn't help but giggle at, squirming side to side in her lap. She didn't grab a nipple, but she did squeeze his chest about the pecs. A measure of squish to muscle. Louis could tell, she wasn't sure he understood. Maybe he would've with a bit of time to process, but he wasn't getting it swift enough.

	"Do you know how babies are made, Louis?" The benefactress asked. Louis thought about it. 

	"In a woman's belly." Came his answer. It wasn't entirely wrong. It wasn't the whole story. But, it was a start, and that was the point. Some comprehension was exhibited, and proven. The avian instructor crooned approval. "Yes, but do you know how?" A question that Louis had to admit, as his knowledge of the outside world seemed locked off and the ignorance of youth flooded back, drowning his foreknowledge from the equation. It was like having the answer on the tip of your tongue, or in your files, but only being allowed to use the first few manilla envelopes of notes. The ones without that information, yet. He shook his head no.

	"In order for that to happen," The hostess started, her hand sliding down his belly, "Something needs to happen, first." Stoically, Louis watched the dark, slender, feminine hand glide down his belly, until the comparatively large hand found his genitals. The most tender of holds found them, and he felt the warmth. Stimulation of a different sort, so general and basic, but effective. The excitement, he did not understand, as he started feeling that familiar pressure of blood pooling. "Someone with these," She emphasized, index and ring fingers moving independently, the tips of her fingerpads gliding over his downy scrote with a feather touch, "Needs to give a little part of themselves to the one to be pregnant." 

	Louis remembered, as if experiencing it for the first time, and groaned his sigh of lucid understanding. Black boxes of unknown sensation melted away in light of this speaking aloud the purpose of genitals beyond feeling good when stimulated. Leaning against her belly, pressing the back of his head to her flat, feathered and crested but featureless chest, nostrils flaring as he spread his thighs and gave her better access. Once more, the bird's grin tightened. Just like his ancestors. 

	"A little bit of the daddy finds a little bit of the mommy." She emphasized, hefting those small, but admirable nuts in her fingers. Like handling unripened berries. "It grows in her body, but it only grows because a little bit of the daddy found the eggs. That's why when a woman has a baby, it doesn't just look like a little version of her." She said, framing them. Gently cradling them, fingers finding the muscle beneath his sac and just cozily holding them within the scrote, too gentle to be anything approaching uncomfortable. "A boy makes it possible for a girl to have a baby." All while Louis enjoyed the attention, nodding his head while his vision swirled. It was more the intimate experience than the stimulation itself, but the end result was undeniable. An erection not yet blessed by the girth and length it'd gain in a few years, protruding and proudly high. A fact that pleased and surprised the hostess.

	"How intriguing." She said, inspecting his plump, velvety cock. Her thumb ran up and down the hybrid anatomy, stimulating sensitie skin and nerves up and down that shaft in that slow up and down, back and forth. Even more when an itty bitt little mote of pre, like the dew on the leaves in the morning, thick as marlamade, weeped from his urethra. Sticky. All while the goat grunted and sighed in equal measure against her, squirming in place without obstructing her access. 

	"Boys like you don't tend to realy get into this until a number of years, Louis." She patronized, rubbing the side of her beak against the top of his head as if to kiss him. All while Louis' eyes rolled into the back of his head, not from cynical condescension, but pleasure. A quiet, whispering chorus of 'ohs' and grunts from his nose. "At best they can just feel good from dry little orgasms. But you're being such a good patient for me." She praised, nuzzling his ear. "Such a good boy. Going to grow up into such a healthy billy."

	"Pleeeeaaase!" Louis whined desperately, fingers tightening against her hips, raising his hooves in lieu of toes to curl or arch.

	Gazing down with one eye in curiosity, the matron bit back her chortle for professionalism. "Please what?" Sounding as confused as she was patronizing. Like she wanted him to say something.

	"Let me cum!" He pleaded, just as the hand complimenting the side of the one she used, held over his balls and cock. Tightening muscles inside, feeling the rise of his attentive balls closer to his root. "Please, let me cum!" He repeated. As if it were her that got to decide. A prospect that amused the bird woman.

	"Louis," She said, compassionately but with a note of chiding, "Boys your age aren't ready. You don't need to do that, anyway." All while she affectionately rubbed her thumb pad up and down the sensitive prepuce, up and down that plump groove running down the underside to his glans. "Though I'm impressed by how, ah, responsive you are to such stimulus." Staring, watching the tiniest motes of clear precum cry like the smallest tears of mice from his ureter, rubbing the small, sticky emissions between her digits. 

	"I'm ready." He told her, staring upwards. Glancing down, the ancient physician taken aback by just how resolute his fixed eyed stare on her was. Gently clutching her hand, something more than lust guided his actions. The words were sure, even if they quivered a little. Nostrils flaring with his excited panting, only then did she realize the fluttery sensation on her belly feathers was the excited little waggle of that fluffy tail. It undercut the stone faced countenance he presented, and yet complimented it. He was a kid that knew what he wanted. He just had to convince her.

	"And even if you could cum, what would you do with it?" She asked, incredulously. Affectionate sarcasm, but practically speaking, she was right. It didn't stop her from rubbing, nor his hips from chasing with little rocking bucks to match the slow pace and rhythm. "What on earth would a horny kid do with the ability to cum? Nothing good." She argued, all as Louis groaned in frustrated protest, quivering as another dry tremor rippled down his thighs.

	Louis could barely think straight as his body chased that bliss it was by all rights, likely incapable of attaining. And yet, like he were wrestling a beast, he hung in there. Blue pupils dilated and contracted as he focused on her face in the dim, warm light of her home. It was a certain frustrating ecstasy to be so tenderly handled, as it was frustrating. He felt like a water pistol, desperately pulling the trigger, just for the contents to be too solid or viscus to come out. Present, but refusing to operate properly. All the while, the satisfaction of cumming dry spasmed through his deep loins again, another tiny bleat from his nose.

	"D... Decide!" He said, in a brief, sobering moment of clarity. 

	"What?" The avian minder questioned, bewildered. So surprisedm she ceased her rubs entirely. A housecat-like bleat of protest bubbled up from Louis' chest, as he rubbed up against her paused hand as if to remind her to keep going. She decidedly did not. Her expression begged an answer. As if sloughing off his morning sleepiness, Louis' wits pooled and collected, and he answered her properly. Blue eyes, to dark. In this angle, in this light, Louis noticed hers were also a touch blue. Not as bright as his, but not the dark buttons or orange-brown he'd thought they were upon entering. "What did you say, Louis?"

	"They're my balls." He argued, rocking his hips forwards and pressing them against her palm, chest heaving with his slow pants. "I get to decide.. how I use them, or not!" Moaning his statement to the world. All as her hand started to rub, again. "For fun. For girls." 

	The two adjusted positions slightly. His hostess decided to lean against the armrest of the couch, wiggling down with her back against the backrest. Louis lay littlespoon against her belly and chest, almost curled up fetal against her. Less energy was spent keeping balance, more room to work. He just lad to rest one of his legs up on top of the stack of hers. Hardly a problem. 

	"And how would you use them?" She questioned, a playful hint to her tone as she studied the ailing billy's face. He was so desperate to cum the real thing. "What would you do if you could cum, tomorrow? What misery would you sow? How many hours would you spend, chasing bliss when you could learn and live?" Tormenting him, as if there could be an acceptable answer for something so purile and indulgent. There was no good answer. He knew it. Creation knew it. There was no justifiable reason someone his age, should be able to cum mature cum. None.

	He stared up at her then, one hand clinging to her arm wrapped around him from below, nuzzling her bicep beneath him like a pillow. His other hand grasped hers, squeezing as another little dollop of pre oozed to bead up at his urethra like a teardrop. 

	"Maybe nothing," He admitted, starting off his speech. Thinking was so hard, when everything about him was telling him to just throw down rationality and pursue cumming. "Maybe, I'll.." Reluctant to say it aloud, even in the confines of his own imagination. "Maybe I'll.. father a legion, my whole life!" He trilled, voice trailing off. All while his caretaker for the evening looked on like a sphinx, considering his words. Intrigued. 

	"Maybe I won't leave a single girl without a baby. Maybe I'll give girls babies for the fun of it... Maybe I'll do it to make them happy. Maybe I'll do it to make ME happy." Self-indulgence, incarnate. The power would be his. The right of nature, to do as he will, consequences be damned. But that's not where it stopped, with a groan. "Maybe I'll just cum to cum. For the fun!" He panted. Hazy, pleasure addled eyes focused on hers, all while his shaft throbbed.

	"It's.. it's my body!" He bleated. "I'll chooooooose!" 

	The moment wore on, heavily. Heavy as a train skiing down an iced set of rails. Momentous, but otherwise quiet. As this boy insisted on the right of consequence, manual agency over his own emissions, the hostess deliberated just what it was he was saying. 

	"Mmmmmm.." Came the hostess' reply, still weighing her options. But eventually, she nuzzled the side of Louis' face and gave his genitals a tender squish, before letting them go. A whispered, "Wait here." filled his right ear, which swiveled and flicked, trying to swallow all that she said. Getting up, she left the kid on his side and left the room, leaving Louis with an erection that refused to relax, and his thoughts. 

	His very private, very lewd thoughts. 

	Why was he like this? Even as far back as this, he could remember being broken in the special ways that made him, him. Horny. Desiring. The female body just elicted such a flame in his heart and loins, as much for what it was, as their potential. Sex was beautiful, sex was desire, but as he lay there on the couch of this strange, otherworldly physician, he remembered his first experience comprehending it. He couldn't recall exactly where, or when. He was able to walk, at least. The first sticking memory he had of a pregnant woman, in some supermarket somewhere. She was dressed modestly, a rather attractive woman, though. But oh, how her state had changed her body. It wasn't about the sheer size or gratuitousness, the grandiosity of her body, but simply the fact it was. Her smell, the way her skin and hide changed between not-pregnant to near end term. Large as she'd grown, the size was not really a factor. Not in and of itself. 

	It was a fascinating state. Even in his ignorance and innocence, maybe it was just sheer animal instinct, but his attention was drawn to her. A walking mystery of life. Just learning about, and understanding what it meant for a body to gestate and birth another, added a certain dimension to things from there on out. Breaking from his memory just to reflect on how he started to understand the differences of the sexes, and why they were. And what that meant for him. 

	All these pregnant people, each needed at least another person to be this way. And on paper, in theory, any boy would do. Damn it, but if his body didn't just respond to that prospect with unflinching excitement. Dangerous thoughts, and unconscious reactions. There were no ugly ideological hangups, no higher purposes for it. Just raw, wantong desire for sex, and an intense mania towards impregnation. It was like sexual pyromania. And now knowing the ability to release was somehow tied to that beautiful potential. He had to have it. 

	And in the middle of it all, knowing he had the rights parts to bring that out in them. If he desired. If he pleased. And they were willing. A male's role in such a beautiful process, simple and clean cut. How many teenagers, how many adults walked this earth with the ability to spread their seed that never even bothered to think about the meaning, or the consequences? How many of them barely chose, so much as just followed their desire for bliss, damn the consequences? And why should he be any different from them? What difference did a few years make? He deserved the ability to at least enjoy the pleasures. 

	He didn't have long to wait before his generous hostess returned, holding a bottle. Like a proverbial witch with a potion, she sat down on the couch and curled up behind Louis, once more little spooning him to her. Carefully, she remoed the cap of the bottle, the heavy liquid runnny and slower than water. Inundating right hand with it, Louis watched the way her now glistening fingers in the candle light emphasized their slender, smooth, immaculately groomed nature. Practiced, with the substance just thick enough on her hand to cling like a second skin. But just thin enough not to run off, making puddles. Some in her palm, like the pallet of a oil painter, as she sat the bottle down on the living room table.

	Her left arm hugged him to her chest, underneath them as she lay on her side, working it under his body. Where before, her right hand played with his loins, her left hand fell to his mostly still burgeoning erection, resting it between her thumb and forefinger while her other fingers gropped and caressed his balls. As if she read his mind, fondly fondling his just slightly overdeveloped nuts for average. Meanwhile, her other hand came to his hip.

	"Relax." She cooed into his ear, as he shut his eyes and wiggled back against her body. "I just need to check one little, final thing for you. The last bit of male anatomy." 

	She didn't bother explaining herself. Louis felt her fingers graze his furry thigh, and then the obtrusive, unbelievable girth it felt of a finger as it ventured down, finally brave and bold enough to touch naked skin. The brief resistance of his anus, the unsure and confused bleat and the instinctive wiggling to pull away, just for her left arm to keep him tugged in against her with a shushing, reassuring noise. The initial surprise over, Louis turned his head and squinted at her, incredulously. 

	"It won't hurt." She assured, "It's just the other side of your bits." 

	Louis didn't look like he believed her, but by the way he didn't struggle, he was more than willing to humor her. Even if she could feel him tightening up like an anthill door, the oil more than accounted for his resistance. His eyes bugged out at the sudden intrusion, followed by a gurgling, grunting, groaning bleat as the soft pad of her fingertip sank in. It didn't have to go in far. Louis' hostess could feel the outline of what she sought after; a firm little node, that ever so slightly shifted and moved with groin muscle and kegels. 

	Louis groaned, driving his face into the couch cushion before the arm rest, throatily drowning himself in the fabrics and upholstery. His butthole hurt, unused to anything unorthodox near or inside of it. In sympathy, his fluffy tail started to lift, fall and dust side to side, mirroring the way she stirred her finger against his poor little prostate. Never a heavy touch, never a forceful push. Like tender footed pilgrimage, her digit walked back and forth over it. 

	"Swollen," She noted, a bit of surprise in her voice. "Healthy. Firm. If a tiny bit larger than I'd expect." But was it really? Maybe she herself wondered, glancing over the moaning boy's shoulder as he nestled his back against her chest, hiding his face in the fluff. Trying to both escape her finger and angle his hips to direct it, erection bobbing in front of him. Gazing down at it, the honey light of the candles made the itty bitty dollops of pre glisten as she coaxed them out of him. It felt like his backside was trying to gum her finger off, all while it was helpless to prevent the manipulation happening inside of him. 

	Louis felt like he had to pee and cum and pee and cum and pee and cum, but there was nothing coming out. Just a fraction of an orgasm, every time those talented digits grazed like the feet of winter fairies over an autumn lake to make frost. His shaft erratically quivering, reminding him of the legs of horses and ponies. Soon he was bleating moans unapologetically, pride having melted enough to accept the stimuli. 

	His hostess darkly giggled, sliding ever so slightly, little by little onto her back, using her body as a wedge to transfer Louis from on his side, once more into littlespoon against her belly. Reaching back and clutching her for dear life, her right hand down between his legs from the front, her left leisurely masturbating the boy. A willing subject for this deep exploration, inside and out of his genitals. Her fingers tenderly stroked over his balls, barely so much as lifting or disturbing them. A fond, appreciative touch, despite the lightness and with the grain. The way one lets a housecat know they're so glad they exist, with strokes across the head.

	Louis remembered this dream so vividly. He remembered the sensation of something new welling up. A kind of pressure he had never felt before. Less an inflammation of irritation, more something swollen with fluid pressure that mounted and grew, ominously. His groaning, moaning, bleating noises grew more desperate as this significant thing welled up through his body, going from stimulating, to undeniable, and then, imminent. His balls tightened, rising to his root, and the sensation found equilibrium between them, simply growing more intense.

	"Oh.. I feel funny!" Louis warned, gritting his teeth and huffing as he lifted his head, presenting his neck and throat and glancing excitedly up at his generous benefactress. It was a funny that just drew intrigued looks from her eyes.

	"Cum, you little firestarter." She challenged, encouraged, "You talked such a big game about how you wanted the choice, the ability, now's your chance to take charge of it. Force your body to operate how you want!"

	How could he do anything less? Louis brayed like a little donkey, covering his face and shuddering as he felt the impossible bubble intensitfy and move. It was like her finger was bullying a spongy, aloe filled fruit, and the pressure was slowly killing him. Pressure built, volume collected and traveled down the pipe. He could viscerally feel the sensation moving, searing in an anticipation that demanded more. His cock bob-bob-bobbing as his proprietress' fingers moved, filling the air with the wet, moist sounds of his gentle penetration.

	It was as sudden and violent as it was unexpected, but she felt it a good second and a half before it arrived. Eyes widening in her head, Louis' grimacing and BLEATING incoherently as he arched his back, feeling the rush of sticky, viscus semen blast out fro his shaftlike a squirt of fluid jello. Aftershocks immediately firing a second, a vastly reduced third, and finally, just a slow, drooling dribble of semen. She felt it inside, too. The bubble of exertion from muscle and tubular gland going limp. His whole body, going limp. Eve followup little rubs in circles to his prostate just had him low grunting, shaft dribbling teardrops of cum.

	
----

	And then Louis remembered the fallout, after. Waking from his bed, the first day after the first night of being able to successfully cum. The mysterious disappearance of his stained shorts, finding their way into the garbage dump without his parents ever knowing. The days to weeks of exploration of himself and understanding of his ability to successfully masturbate. 

	He remembered no oil when he woke. He bore no signs of soreness from any such intrusion to his sphincter. He still wore the exact same things he did when he went to bed, that night. Right down to that smelly little lamb plush that never left his bed. There was just him. A precocious goat kid, wagging his working willy at the worthless world. Somehow, able to successfully cum, far too soon. A secret that very few would come to learn.

	He had a five year head start on his peer group, and always would. With the bonus of a feverdream to celebrate that first night, setting it off. But it wasn't just that first, wet night. He'd never forget that beautiful dream that led up to it. Just another beautiful, bizarre dream.

	It wasn't the first weird dream he ever had. It wouldn't be the last. But it was the first he came to.