“Attention in the terminal,” droned the cheerful-but-lifeless voice from the ceiling, “the white zone is for the immediate loading and unloading of passengers only.  There is no stopping in the red zone.”

Just out of TSA screening, the red fox arranging his pockets as they had been before having been harangued by a stranger with a badge, snickered softly to himself.  “Don’t you tell me which zone is for loading, and which one is for stopping.  Listen Betty, don’t start up with your white zone shit again.”

The line had been unusually short, even for a Thursday afternoon which could be a Friday for many in the post-pandemic world.  Getting used to new traffic patterns had been hard enough, but rediscovering the ins and outs of air travel had stretched Redford’s normally Job-like patience to its limits.  

He patted his pockets one last time.  *Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch,* he thought, except this time it was glasses, wallet, phone and boarding pass.  The testicles, fortunately, came with him quite easily.  They kind of brought themselves.  

“Your bag is yours, but many bags look alike.  Please check closely before you exit the baggage claim,” came the voice again.  Redford palmed his rollaway and shouldered his backpack, and started for Gate B16.

*

Denver International wasn’t the *worst* airport to fly through, but it could be a bitch to fly out.  Depending on the time of day and the day of the week, you could sail through in ten minutes or be stuck in the labyrinth for over an hour.  This was where Redford Robertson (yes, his parents were movie buffs) differed from most everyone else in the endless line.
 
For starters, he made a point of arriving four hours before his flight.  As far as he was concerned, airport time was time spent all alone in the middle of a crowd.  Especially in a place as big as Denver, where the next empty corner was just a boarding call away.  

He also liked to people-watch, an endless parade of entertainment from all corners of the globe.  Why was that nice Punjabi family going to New Hampshire?  Who was that French bulldog yelling at on the phone, pacing the moving walkway (watch your step, it’s coming to an end) around B9?

And always, that most important but easily answered question:  *can anybody hear my pants?*  So far, that easy answer had been no.

Redford smiled broadly, stepping to the right on the moving walkway to let more-harried passengers get to their gates.  Leaning against the black rubber railing, he lifted his tail free from catching on anything and felt the reassuring padded presence against his rear.  Shifting his hips, he could feel the crinkle but not hear it in this den of din.  

His yellow eyes shifted left, then right.  The pressure in his bladder that had been building since he left home was a low-level nag, nowhere close to uncontrollable but he knew he wouldn’t make it to Phoenix without having to let go.  His smile widened:  “Challenge accepted,” he whispered, turning around to lean over the railing.  “Time to break this baby in.”  

It wasn’t much, maybe a cup, but it was enough.  As he passed Gate B12, a dribble from his sheath became a decent stream, whatever didn’t hit the diaper immediately raining back down on him, warm and familiar.  His moan of relief was internal, his spread legs allowing for the first of many expansions.  By the time he exited the walkway the pressure was now outside, pulling gently down instead of building up inside.  

Not an insignificant amount of that pressure was his now half-knotted sheath.  He couldn’t help it; that’s what guilty pleasures did.  

Crossing the last hundred feet to his gate, he remembered the chagrin on the TSA rhino’s face during the pat down.  Things had gone smoothly this time, but who knew when they would recalibrate the scanners or change random rules.

If the agent balked, he could always use the sorry-I-don’t-bring-my-car-accident-xrays-everywhere-I-go argument and play the sympathy game.  It had worked before, oddly mollifying a middle-aged lady in a San Francisco art gallery.  And they had security guards *before* the town went to hell.

People were weird.  Then again, what was a padded fox in the middle of the airport?

The gate was mostly empty two hours before departure, and after checking that Flight 2066 to Phoenix was in fact the next one at B16, Redford picked two seats at the end of a row, used one for his luggage and sat down gingerly in the other, enjoying the *soupçon* of squish.    

The best was yet to come. 

*

Meditation is not emptying one’s mind of intrusive thoughts, or even emptying one’s mind of thoughts at all.  Rather, it is recognizing thoughts as they occur and setting them on leaves to float downstream, or attaching them to balloons to disappear into the sky, or passing by doors one does not open.  Sometimes it is simply sitting with one’s body and existing.  For Redford, he could people-watch without using his vision.

Fifteen minutes of phone-fiddling had dried his eyes, and so he’d decided to check out consciously.  One arm through his rollaway’s handle, the other through a backpack strap, he closed his lids and slid into the world of sound and scent.

To look at him, you would assume the chunky middle-aged fox in a button-down Tommy Bahama shirt and baggy khaki cargo shorts had fallen asleep, but a closer look at the ever-twitching ears and tailtip belied his somnolent appearance.  

Voices came and went, rose and fell, fading into his range and back out again.  Here was a gruff Boston-type accent, accompanied by the earthy-dry bouquet of pachyderm hide.  There went an exotic mix of curry and perfume, and quite a bit of rapid-fire Chilean Spanish.  Curious, he’d opened to slits to discover it belonged to a tall chinchilla lady in tights and a bomber jacket, of all things.  No aviators to complete the look, though.  

But he didn’t know he’d actually fallen asleep until something grabbed his tail and ran its fingers through his fur, sending a bristling chill up his spine, all the way to the tips of his ears.  He turned around to find a little blue-eyed wolf toddler examining where the russet fur turned to white at the tip.  The mother was busy chatting up another mother next to her, so Redford merely smiled warmly and wagged out of the pup’s grasp.

A glance at his phone yielded just over an hour to boarding, and a glance around him yielded a mostly-full gate, including some standing families and half a dozen single empty seats.  Probably the same logic that afflicted movie theaters and long lines of urinals:  if you can put one in between you and the next guy, you do it.  

*Urinals,* the fox thought.  *Too much work.*  And he smiled again.  There was still a comforting warmth down there, aided by the heat of his groin.  The next one would travel further down and back, adding to the sag *plus* some minor waddle for good measure.  But the way he was dressed, the thing could be full to bursting and his future seatmate would be none the wiser.  At worst, maybe an assumption of odd lavender perfume and way too many candy wrappers in pockets.

After all, that’s what stealth-padding was all about. The katagelophiles could crow all they wanted; the cover-up was, figuratively and quite literally, the whole point.  And sometimes stickies, but those were mostly happy accidents along the way…or the result of a totally-not-torn-by-a-boner hole in the front.  At that point you trade one pleasure for another.

Redford steadied his head and lay down his lids again, this time wandering through a more-or-less guided meditation to one of his “center stages,” the simple metaphorical sunny clearing in a forest.  He liked it for its simplicity of creation and ease to fall into, in moments like this where keeping an ear tuned for announcements was necessary.

But what brought him out of the clearing (he had been sunning and only sunning; there would be time aplenty on the plane for all sorts of secret squishy shenanigans) wasn’t some anodyne voice over a speaker but one very alive and, it seemed, from Georgia.

The Delta employee strode off the moving walkway (caution: it is coming to an end) so quickly, the young red panda struggling to keep her paw almost stumbled off the belt.  

“Sheena!” the skunk bellowed across the thirty feet or so of bestiary to the gate agent, who held up one stiff finger and pointed to the telephone receiver in her other paw, shoved against the side of her head.  “Ugh,” the skunk grunted, not unkindly, but the type of irritated airport employees get while running into a problem they solve dozens of times a day.  

*Not cynical, or even pessimistic,* thought the fox, *more like good-natured grim determination*.  Just when it looked like she would make a beeline for the desk, she made an abrupt right turn to head straight for him.  Or, more accurately, the empty seat next to him at the end of the row.  

There was no time for negotiation, not even time to open his muzzle, before the tweenish wah was plopping down, clearly awkward from the mandatory escort and perhaps glad to be rid of the woman, who bent down and smiled an unmistakable bless-your-heart Southern type of gentility Redford knew well.

“Alright, hon, I got you here on time, but I did it out of the goodness of my heart.”  She turned to the fox and spoke as if the kid couldn’t hear either of them.  “I’m supposed to be on break, but how can you resist a face like that?  Think you can make sure he don’t skedaddle while I get my sandwich money from my girl over there?”  The nod toward the gate was unnecessary, but then again, Redford’s powers of perception tended toward the practically supernatural.

“Think you can behave til the plane comes?”

Through an expression that was part-bored, part-indignant, the panda crossed his arms.  “I never MISbehaved.”  And glanced sidelong at Redford, as if to make sure everyone knew the real score.  But the real score was actually beginning to hit the fox’s nose.

He inhaled as he nodded, gathering a good bouquet.  Cedar, cinnamon, and just a touch of talc.  He glanced back at the boy, betraying nothing…yet.  He had a suspicion, not proof.  It was certainly more interesting than it had been five minutes ago.

“Okay, thanks.  Good flight, young man,” she offered, turning away to bellow again at Sheena.  “Girl, my hungry gon’ be hangry if I don’t get that cash from you.”  Sheena answered something indistinct, and then the skunk was too far away as well.  They faded into the background of airport white noise.  

It might as well have been silence, as the moment had passed, leaving two perfect strangers unintroduced except for the comedy of errors that was random life. 

Moments passed, and kept passing.  The kid remained stock still, arms crossed, staring into the middle distance, clearly uncomfortable.  It also added further evidence backing up his suspicion.  The skunk was now striding her way to the nearest restaurant with a fistful of bills, her good deed having been done.  

Redford noticed the panda’s eyes following the same show, figuring he could either make some light without being creepy, or bear their shared experience alone.  Seeing his chance, he leaned to his right and spoke conspiratorially, still watching the Georgia peach.  

“So, what happens when your accompaniment runs away?  Do you have to turn that little sign around, otherwise it’s a lie?”  At this the panda looked at him, so he looked back, deadpan.  “I figured you’d know better than me.”

A flash of skepticism traveled across the hazel eyes before softening into a kind of now-we-see-each-other recognition.  When he smiled, he took those racing-stripes on his cheeks with it, a couple fangs breaking through to brighten him up quite a bit.  

“Well, I haven’t exploded yet, so that’s a good sign.”  This time it was Redford’s turn to admire his own deadpan thrown back at him, and well.

“Touché, little man.  Well played.”  The fox crossed his legs with a deep sigh.  “Though how awkward was that?”

“I’m used to awkward.”  Simple truth, or subtle hint?  Whichever it was, there was likely a story behind either. 

“You can relax now, you know.”

“I know, I’m fine.”  But the boy didn’t look fine, or comfortable, or at ease.  

Redford glanced over a shoulder:  still almost an hour before they would start calling for the very first passengers.  “Your back’s going to be sore if you do that for an hour.  Take it from an old guy.”

The wah stayed just how he was for as long as he could stand it, which was—no surprise—less than a minute before the tail started poofing, then twitching, and finally, he uttered as much of a grunt as a pre-pubescent could muster. Slowly, and very gingerly, he pushed himself up and back in a smooth motion, coughing completely unconvincingly over the muted-cellophane sound coming from his waist.

It was so cute, and so weirdly coincidental, that Redford almost giggled aloud.  Once again that cocktail of scents wafted up from next door.  The fox inhaled again, noticing nothing new.  As in, bladder integrity still intact, Captain.  Novel to him, the combination wasn’t unpleasant in the least, and compared to his lavender, he could see the cinnamon going a long way to mask without drawing attention.  

Now, his curiosity piqued, he wanted to find out this kid’s story.  Could be anything from simple bedwetting to kinky chastity, Redford had met all kinds in his time.  This time was different, though, because it was spontaneous.  What were the odds?  And why?  

He had nothing better to do with his remaining time, so maybe sharing a secret with a stranger might at least improve his mood.  Either that or sit next to him silently, which was tantamount to torture for several reasons.  As the kid dangled his lower legs off the chair, the fox brainstormed ice-breakers.  He’d never had a chance meeting like this before, and while he was far from green with this kind of thing, it was a first nonetheless.

The smell of fried rice crept over from the Panda Express.  Several gates announced various and assorted announcements.  People of uncountable species walked to and fro, making their ways through their innumerable lives.  Next to him, the little red panda sighed, and something about that sigh made up his mind. 

It just sounded like it needed answering.

“So,” said the fox without looking over, recrossing his legs and making no move to stifle his pants, “I’ve been in for about four hours.  How long’ve you been in for?”  He could tell the boy’s face was squinched up even in his peripheral vision.  When the panda’s head turned, *that’s* when the fox tilted his head and looked over.

“Huh?”  One side of his upper lip lifted in a kind of diet snarl, revealing a few more teeth.  

Redford noticed the kid had turned only his head.  Might as well be dead to rights.  His paw was over the armrest in a flash, an incriminating claw hovering over where the waistband would be.  The fox gave it two pokes and grinned.

Crinkle.  Crinkle.  *Bingo.* 

The kid’s eyes went wide, blinking cartoonishly.  His paws went from his sides to his waist, then to clasping each other, as if there were flames between his legs.  Redford let the boy fidget his fingers for a few moments before dropping what might be a pretty big bomb.

“Hey, look at me.”  And look the boy did, just in time for the fox to lift up his loose-fitting shirt, exposing an inch or so of blue-and-green plaid.  He even tapped it a couple times so his meaning could not be misconstrued:  *Yeah, me too.*  “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I don’t get it,” the red panda breathed.  “Did my mom put you up to this?”

“If she did, then she paid for two tickets.  I had to have a boarding pass to get through security.  No, it’s what it looks like.  What are the odds, right?”  Redford shrugged.  “Well, here we are.”

“Yeah.”  It was clear more prodding was needed.

The fox pointed to his muzzle.  “Redford.  Hm?” he asked, spreading open palms out to the boy.

“Radley.”

“Nice to meet you, Radley.”  After staring at the fox’s outstretched paw for a pause, he reached over to shake.  He still winced at the crinkle, but let off a lot of steam as he made himself comfortable again.  

“So, what now?” asked Radley.  At least the introduction had opened him up instead of creeping him out.  He still looked kind of dazed, so the fox continued on in a conversational tone, as if he were talking about the weather forecast.

“You never did answer my question.  I got four hours, and…?”

Radley’s little round ears flattened some, his tail tucking slightly.  “Well…”  He began fidgeting again.

“What am I going to do, laugh at you?  That’d be the Pampers calling the Huggies cushy and absorbent.”  Redford shrugged, his point strongly evident.

“I guess, if I’m gonna be honest, about eleven?”  The wah’s expression darkened.  “Mom made me put it on after dinner last night.”  

That they had met like this was pretty random.  That they were having the conversation they were having, was nigh-on unbelievable.  Maybe he could put the kid at ease a little, at least make his flight slightly more bearable.  

“Tiny victory over her doing it for you?”

“I guess.”  Arms crossed over chest, defiantly.

“So, fess up.  What’s the origin story on this thing?”  And Redford was actually interested, too.  In a world where chances to commiserate ran few and far between, it might do them both some good.

“It’s stupid.”

“I bet it is.  Try me.  What else have you got to do until we board?”

With a shrug that seemed just slightly resigned and mostly relieved, the boy began regaling.  “It really is stupid, when you hear the whole thing.  Like two years ago, I had one accident overnight, but nothing happened after that until *last* year, last time we went to my uncle and aunt in El Paso, I did it on the plane and there was a whole THING about it.”

“I can only imagine.” 

“My mom didn’t forget the first time, and she just, iunno, INSTA-DIAPER to solve the problem.”

“Did you ever go to a doctor?”

“Said it was stress or something.  But I’m stressed plenty of times and don’t make a hecking puddle on the plane seat.”  Radley’s lower lip trembled just enough to be noticeable.  “And it wasn’t a puddle, cuz it soaked into the cushion.”

Redford felt for the kid, that much was certain.  “Lemme guess, ‘We don’t want any accidents while we’re traveling,’ etcetera?  It’s quick and easy and painless.”

“For her, maybe.  Easy to bark orders when you’re not the one wearing it.”  Radley’s fingers tapped his forearms, his tail tip making minute, agitated flits out the back of his seat.  

“Is it at least comfortable?” asked the fox, wiggling a bit.  “I am, but I’m a frequent flier, pun intended.  Got practice.”

“Yeah, was weird at first but, I mean, either you get used to it or suffer.”

“I hear you there. Makes me kinda glad I don’t have Marine One for a mom.” 

“Huh?”

“Helicopter parenting.”

“Oh, that’s for sure.  Your turn,” Radley said with a lean toward him and what looked like rapt attention.  Likely, meeting an adult in the same predicament had him curious as all get-out.

Clearing his throat, Redford sat up (*crinkle*) and thought for a few moments, choosing his words deliberately.  Now they were treading into potentially dangerous territory.  

“I fly a lot for business, and something about the pressure differential on the planes puts, well, pressure on my bladder.  Long story short, I don’t get much warning before I gotta go, and it’s a lot of work to get to and from those medieval torture devices they call airplane bathrooms.”

Radley nodded, squirming slightly as if in not only sympathy, but also empathy as well.  

“And it was the second time I had a close call, almost missing my plane because it was either bail to the bathroom or board with a dripping leg, and we all know how that would’ve gone.”

“What, getting arrested?”

“Worse!”  The fox waggled his fingers in a mock-spooky gesture.  “YouuuuuuTuuuuube!”  He snickered, and the boy snickered with him.  Commiseration, indeed. 

Radley appeared lost in thought.  “So, you do this all the time?”

“Every time I fly.”  And even some days when he wasn’t flying, which rendered them pleasure instead of business.  It was when the business gave him the pleasure that he knew life was good.  But the boy didn’t need to know that.

“…And you just try not to pee until you really have to?”  

Redford paused to ponder.  “Well, no, actually.  Why would I hold it when I’ve got the thing on? Isn’t that what it’s supposed to do?”

“Well yeah, but…” began the red panda, trying in fits and starts to articulate himself. He seemed antsy, not awkward, just antsy.  “Don’t you just have to go to the bathroom and change?”

Scoffing under his breath, Redford smirked, laying down some serious dope the kid obviously wasn’t aware of.  Something started gnawing at the back of his brain, though.  “Uh, nope.  See, that’s the beauty of it.  You got several turns in there, provided it’s one of your standard ones.  Mine’s kind of special.”

That was definitely on a need-to-know basis.  

“So you’ve already…”

“Right before I sat down.”  The fox pointed at the moving walkway.  “Between the beginning and the end of that conveyor.”

The red panda gawked in the direction of Redford’s pointing claw,  as if amazed at the possibility of getting away with such a societal faux-pas.  But instead of being grossed out or unbelieving, he looked…kind of worked up.

“You can use the thing if you have to.  I mean, it’s why it’s there.  Besides, you’d just be taking Dear Old Mom up on her offer, wouldn’t you?”  He snickered, but at the same time he could see revelation dawning in Radley’s eyes, putting together a two and two he hadn’t before been able to see. 

Or wouldn’t let himself see, who really knew?

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?  It’s either that or try to pull the thing down in the bathroom without tearing the tapes, hold it and suffer bladder pain—always a pleasure.  Or just relax and give it what it wants.  They’re designed to a purpose, y’know.”

Radley considered all this, seemingly drawing up inside himself for an inner conversation.  Weighing his options.  Considering things he hadn’t before.  The little guy appeared to be struggling, and Redford found himself wondering what the kid would have done had they not met like this. 

If he were to be completely honest, a part of him found itself gratified to be sharing a “dirty little secret.”  Add that to the fact the red panda was a complete neophyte and, well, it was kinda hot.  

He decided to leave Radley to his thoughts, whatever they may be.  The choice seemed clear to him.  As clear as pee in a reasonably-hydrated critter.

As he leaned back in his seat, he let his thoughts wander into that meditative space again, interrupted here and there by the odd announcement.  Their plane remained on time.  Someone named Jackie, please pick up the nearest red courtesy phone, thank you.  Attention passengers for Delta Flight 2259 to Minneapolis, we’ll be departing approximately eleven minutes late.  After Boarding Group 5 we’ll have to check all bags that aren’t personal items, and that includes—

A small finger poked the side of Redford’s arm.  The fox turned to see a face resigned to its fate but willing to try.

“So, how do you do it?”  The voice came out small, almost obsequious. 

“No kidding?  Serious?  Not making fun, just confirming.”

“AF, as my friends say.  Seems like the easiest way to deal with it.  And I can always take it off at the end, right?”

“How long did she want you to keep it on?”

“It’s more about the plane than anything.”

“Okay.  Well, I mean, seems pretty straightforward, but then again, I bet I do this a lot more often than you do.”

“That’s for sure.”

*Shame,* thought the fox, *it becomes you, kid.*  Aw crap, was that the beginning of a boner?  It didn’t come as a surprise, the boner part, but rather the source of the boner.  Something about this whole deal was unmistakably turning him on.  

“First thing I would say would be, follow the Frozen playbook and just let it go.  Failing that, what’s your hang up?”

“Just don’t think I could just do it like that.  At least, not sitting down.”

“That *is* kind of a special talent.  Failing that, stand up and unkink the plumbing.  It’s a bit of a thrill, if I’m going to be honest.  Like you’re getting away with something.  Just don’t pee in the thing until you’re past security or don’t pad up until you’re at your gate.  The liquid shows up on the big body scanners.  You wouldn’t believe my TSA stories.”  *Especially what went down in the private screening room in DFW,* he thought, recalling a particularly interested supervisor who turned out to have a caregiving streak in him.  Needless to say, any changes made that day weren’t related to his flight for once.

The wah slid forward, swinging his legs to get himself to the edge of his seat, then he was up on his feet, immediately smoothing down his shorts to minimize any incriminating bulges.  What was he going to do three pees down the line, when waddling was all but guaranteed?

“It helps if you widen your stance a little, not too much, but more than when you’re standing normally.  Works for me, at least,” said the fox, crossing his leg and finding a hardening sheath pressing against moist, becoming slippery, gel.  He wasn’t even *thinking* about anything but seeing the kid piss himself, and, well, it was working.  But Radley never had to know that.

One paw on the end of the row of seats, the other fidgeting at his side, Radley looked around at the sea of critterdom and then at Redford, and finally at the ceiling.  

A minute passed.  Then two.  Gears were clearly turning inside the kid’s head, but it was only frustrating him.  

“Wassup?” he asked casually, feeling more and more like he was covering something up.  Which he was, but still.  

“Can’t,” replied Radley, almost disappointedly.  Clearly he was aware of being on the cusp of revelation, but the mental blocks were all too real, and Redford knew exactly what that did to a bladder.  “I know nobody’s looking, but still.”  The sentence needed no completion; they both knew he wanted to.

“Yeah, but…eleven hours?  You must be great on road trips.  Those are some girded loins.”

“It’s starting to hurt.”

“How’d you think you were going to make it the whole way?”

“It was my *mom,* remember?”

“Yeah, but still.  You could’ve used it long…”  But he trailed off, chin on his fingers, pensive.  No, the red panda *couldn’t* have used it long ago, because hadn’t wanted to until just now.  Hadn’t even been thinking of it, in fact.  The concept was foreign to the fox’s experience, but here it was, Radley’s truth.  

“ATTENTION IN THE BOARDING AREA,” boomed a voice over the loudspeaker.  They both jumped.  “This message is for those of you here at Gate B16 waiting to board Delta Flight 5569 with service to Phoenix.  Our aircraft has arrived, and as soon as we get the plane cleaned and the crew changed we can start boarding in as little as twenty minutes.”

Color drained from the boy’s ears.  “I’m Boarding Group 1; my mom insisted on First Class.”

“For once, that hurts our chances.”

“I don’t know if I can do it on the plane, but I can’t hold it!”  Whisper-shouted, eyes pleading. 

Redford became aware of his own heartbeat as he sat and thought.  Steady and strong, but also speedy.  His erection hadn’t gone away; in fact, he was starting to knot up a little.  The snug warmth surrounding his junk didn’t help matters.  Or it helped *too* much.  

He jerked his paw out from between his legs.  He’d been idly massaging himself.  Casting a glance at Radley, the kid’s eyes weren’t exactly glued to the spot, but they were rapidly looking him up and down.  Suddenly he was very aware of his own musk, rising like the heat crawling up his face, tinged with the lavender with which he’d spiked today’s diaper. 

At some point he’d have to try the cinnamon-and-cedar combo.  Little bit more masculine, more plausible deniability.

Looking furtively around the terminal, the fox spotted the restrooms a few gates down, the men’s and women’s straddling the hallway.  Next to the women’s was a family restroom, but a young beaver dad looked to be waiting for someone inside.  

“Do you need to get away from all these eyes for this time?”

Radley appeared hopeful.  “Can we?”

“As long as you’re okay with a stranger taking you into an airport bathroom,” shrugged Redford, which made the kid giggle.

“No such thing as a stranger when he’s the only one who can help.”  The vocabulary may have been lacking, but the meaning was clear.  

“I guess, then, grab your bags and follow me.  Wait!  Turn that sign around so it doesn’t *completely* look like I’m trying to kidnap you.”  Standing up, the fox shouldered his backpack and threw his duffel’s strap around his neck.

Radley took the sign off his neck and pocketed it.

“Why don’t you check out the family restroom, and failing that…”  he looked around some more, spotting a MadreMoo pod over in a far corner. “That thing,” he pointed. 

“Whaddya mean…like, if everything else is full?”

“It’s not like we can go in a stall together without looking weird.  I don’t think I could pass as even your adoptive dad.  Isn’t it privacy we’re prioritizing here?”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Redford paused, actually nonplussed for a few.  He had a thought:  either he would be showing the red panda it was okay to just let go, or he might be opening a whole new world of…*stimulation*…to the boy.  Suddenly he felt very responsible.

Still, he bent over and spoke softly into one round red ear:  “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re wearing one.”  When he drew back, Radley was blushing.  “What, afraid you’ll like it too much?”

“I never said that.  Okay, fine…but you should go first, otherwise it’ll look like you’re stalking me.”  The words of a true co-conspirator.

“Good point.  Bring all your bags.  I’ll check out Plan A, but if you see me head over to Plan B, you’ll know.”  Once the kid nodded, he started across the terminal, trying to guess the story behind that beaver dad.  As the fox approached, he could see an impatient scowl on the guy’s face, as his teen son played Pokémon leaning against the wall with ultimate feigned boredom.

“Shelley, do you just want us to board without you and Sadie?”  His tone concerned, his look the opposite, his ear to the door.  Mumbles from the other side.  A single silent, exasperated sigh.  “Well, how much longer do you think it’ll be?” 

That was all Redford needed.  About-facing, he strode toward the MadreMoo pod, verifying Radley was following his moves.  Making a perfunctory first pass, he saw the green VACANT sign and the weight dropped from his shoulders and mind.  Without even thinking about optics, he abandoned his second pass and yanked the door open, sliding inside and rotating the lock to OCCUPIED.

The fox waited, using the time to think up some relatively believable stories in case all the shit went down.  Though he came up with more than a couple decent excuses, he bet he wouldn’t have to use them.

This hadn’t occurred to Radley, who knocked lightly and squirmed through as soon as there was space.  His tail had poofed to pipe-cleaner thickness, his hackles bursting from the collar of his shirt.  The kid seemed to grow even more anxious as he cast his eyes over the space, dragging his bags through.

“Where’s the toilet?”

Redford almost sighed, but tried to put himself in the red panda’s small TSA-friendly Crocs.  “First…and by first I mean *again*…you’re wearing it, and second…this is a lactation pod.  Bench, changing table, trash can, but the toilets are next door.  Plumbing is expensive to route, and this thing needs to be mobile so they can move it where it’s needed most.  Any other questions, or is your pee gonna start migrating to your balls while you ‘hold it’ on the plane?”

“What happens if it just keeps backing up?”  Radley’s voice was very small, and more than a little scared.  “If I were in the shower this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, in my bathroom at home.  Doesn’t matter if I just peed like, a second ago, when I get in the shower and the warm water gets down there it’s…missile hits the Hoover Dam.”

Suddenly it dawned on the fox.  Several key connections made in a split-second, and the possibility hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks.  His balls lurched in their padding, anticipating release.  

That’s what happens when a random kid’s legitimate problem intersects with your part-time kink.  The Venn Diagram from heaven *and* hell.

“Radley?” 

“Yeah?”

The fox swiped his wrist across his nostrils.  Nothing.  “My nose isn’t bleeding, is it?”

“Uh, no.”

“Must only be in animes then.”  A flick of his ears brought him back to the present.  He looked at the red panda with what he hoped was sincerity, because he actually was being sincere.  “I think I know how to missile your Hoover Dam.” 

“How?”

Redford licked his lips, feeling *extremely* foxy now.  He wasn’t entirely okay with it, either.  Sure, it felt good.  It felt *damn* good, and he desperately wanted to know if he’d be this horny if Radley were twenty-five or thirty and not eleven-ish.

“I might have to figure that out later,” mumbled the fox.

“Figure what out?  Are we gonna run out of time?”  The little red panda had actually begun to squirm, knees rubbing in classic pee-dance fashion.  Part of the fox’s mind wondered if the kid would end up with an omaroshi fetish later in life.

“Sorry, said the quiet part loud.  Uh, forget it…but are you ready to listen to my logic?”

“I’m ready to pee my brains out!”

*THEN WHY DON’T YOU DO IT ALREADY SO I CAN SNOOF THE FUCK OUTTA THAT THING?!* 

Several flashbacks of encounters with old FWBs notwithstanding, Redford tried to keep his focus on the task at hand.  Easier said than done, yes, and complicated by his unique position:  practical and pragmatic middle-aged male, DL on the DL, ostensibly trusted adult to impressionable youngsters. 

“Alright…alright, just please believe that I’m not trying to molest you and we have no other choice with the parameters you gave me.  So I need to go, you need to go, and some warm liquid would sure help about now.  You get where I’m going with this?”

Radley was either desperate for an explanation or some relief.  He gestured with his elbow, afraid to take a paw away from between his legs.  “Yeah, but the bathroom-“

“You’re the bathroom, and if I don’t go, you don’t go.  You want out of that pain you’re in or not?”  Redford began to unfasten his pants; they were way past any further explanation.  He tried not to let it get to him—the secrecy, the hurriedness, the conspiracy—but there they all were.  And it was all too difficult to keep those deeply-paved connections from lighting up.  

The kid *was* pretty cute, though, with his squirm and all.  What would he do?  How would he react?  Fuck around and find out, as the saying went.

“Thaaaaat’s a pretty molest-y thing, given what you just said.”  Then the kid’s face screwed up tight.  “Oh.  Ow!  Feels like a needle!”

Redford undid a few buttons before shucking off his shirt the rest of the way.  “That’s it, I’m driving.”  Now they were close to actually doing damage.  Whatever the cause of Radley’s hangups, it needed to end now.  Caution thrown to the wind, his shorts found his ankles a moment later.

So much went through Redford’s mind, swirling in a maelstrom of hormones and responsibilities and possibilities.  He had no time for any of it—the little red panda had even *less*—so he acted and turned off his thinking.  And to be completely honest, he was too keyed-up by this point to be able to think about much, at least rationally. 

Radley’s bright hazel eyes followed the fox’s paws as they made quick work of his shorts next, suddenly in a position of having to either trust or…or, there really didn’t seem to be any other option than that.  Already in this deep, with what felt like a hot spike in his bladder, trust was the only way.  

“Step out.”  The boy raised his legs as the shorts came off.  Redford took down his own boxer-briefs with little more than an afterthought, and there he was as well.

Little Pawz and all.

“Those’re kinda cute,” Radley said.

Redford started.  “Y-you sure my nose isn’t bleeding?”

It may have still been dry, but the way it looked now the fox couldn’t wait to see what the thing looked like wet.  Around the leg-holes, up and over the red panda’s hips, and all the way to the waist ran a red-white-and-blue pattern of octagonal rattan, the kind on a porch in the backcountry somewhere.  

Inside this ran a two-inch-wide strip of light-blue printing made to look like denim.  But the kicker, and the thing Redford’s mind couldn’t process, was the smattering of crescent moons and palmetto trees across the remaining space.  The fox knew instinctively those would disappear very soon.

“I…hm, is there any—“

“Mymomisfromsouthcarolinaaaaaaaahhh,” moaned the kid, answering the question he thought the fox was going to ask.  Actually, that was the *second* thought he had, right after, *This is a fucking custom job…where’d that lady find this?*

He took Radley’s right paw and shoved it behind the damp bears and raccoons and various other critters, sending them a-crinkle.  The small, soft fingers and neatly trimmed claws felt great on his sheath, but he was triaging here and needed to keep at least half-soft if this was going to work.  Easier said than done. 

To his credit, the red panda didn’t pull away or even ask what was happening, which made it infinitely easier to concentrate the seven seconds or so he needed to let go.  His bladder was anything but shy.  And when it went, it was more than enough to break whatever wall had been put up.

Almost like a missile to a dam.  

It came slowly, but it was coming.  Anything less than a full bladder and his stream was weak, always had been, but if the quantity didn’t do it the boy’s shock sure might.  

“Sorry Radley, just a teensy bit molesty.”

“Well actually, it…oh just started on my…”  And now, one of the hottest things Redford had ever witnessed:  the red panda’s muzzle, squinching into a rictus of pain that easily could double as pleasure.  “Awwwww shit, owwwwww…haaa, haaaaaFUCK!  FUCK!  FUCK!”  After that, a feral groan that might as well have been the crash of orgasm.

Radley’s paw balled up into a fist inside the fox’s padding, trembling, drawing furrows in the material, sodium polyacrylate squelching between little fingers, having been freed from its lining.  Widening his stance was the universal penultimate indicator, only one thing remaining.

It was suddenly very quiet in the MadreMoo pod.  Redford continued to empty his bladder, though the kid hardly needed his help anymore.  Radley stared into the middle distance, shuddering bodily, his tail a twitching two-tone russet pipe cleaner.

But even above the hushed bustle outside, they both could hear the wah’s stream doing its best to blast a hole in the front of his diaper.  This was no stealth-pee; this was a full-on, in-your-face, snoof-it-if-you-dare interior hosedown.  

There’s only one first time for everything, and the fox realized he was sweeping up this boy’s pad-virginity for himself.  *No, I’m doing a service, I’m doing a service,* he repeated in his head, but he swelled against Radley’s paw nonetheless.  

“Hnngh…hnnnnngh…”

“You doing okay?  Does it still hurt?”

“It almost feels like I’m cumming.”  Radley slid his free paw down his belly and over the front of his groin, feeling the material swell in real time.

“Sometimes it does,” the fox murmured, transfixed, and also turned the hell on that the boy had at least some self-pleasure under his belt.  “Does that feel as good as it looks from here?”

Radley only moaned from somewhere in the back of his throat, appearing to be nowhere near empty.  Wavering slightly, he gently sank to his knees, paw still groping the growing bulge.  Thusly unimpeded, his stream took on a noisier, babbling-brook sound.  Most of the crescent moons and palmetto trees were already gone, at least in the front. 

Kneeling along, the fox drew his left paw around the red panda’s back, just above where his tail passed under the elastic.  His right paw, seemingly of its own accord, closed the space between them, first laying directly on top of Radley’s own paw before pushing it out of the way.  

He felt the vibration and warmth just a thin layer of plastic away, running his thumb over where the kid’s soggy sheath would be, and cupping his fingers under the ball area.  Radley hunched forward a few times before sitting on his calves, deflated and dazed but relieved. 

The fist against Redford’s sheath relaxed, giving the fox’s knot some breathing room and letting him know he was full-out under the diaper, and not that far from blowing with the right technique.  Oh, but it was tempting.  He knee-shuffled until he was muzzle-even with the kid, his paw still attached like a player palming a basketball.

“Molest-y things aside, do you feel better?  Do you see what I was getting at?” asked Redford, trying to will his dick to quit throbbing so hard.

The red panda took a few seconds to catch his breath, which carried the same cinnamon undertone as his padding.  “That never worked back at summer camp,” he deadpanned. 

“Desperation will make a man do strange things,” said Redford.  “Says the guy whose diaper your paw’s in, right?”  He even managed an uncomfortable chuckle at the end there.

Radley glanced down, lifting the hem of his shirt above the waistband of his padding, as if to confirm that what had happened, had actually happened.  “And nobody’s gonna know?”

“Not under those shorts, they won’t.  Unless they know what they’re looking for, in which case they’re pervs.  Yipe!”  The little shit had knuckled his knot!

“Says the guy whose diaper my paw’s in.  No, actually, this is pretty awesome.  I had no idea there was so much…whatever…to it.”

“Your brain lit up?”

“Like a Christmas tree.”

“Enjoy your newfound freedom, Radley.”  Redford moved to pull the kid’s paw away, but instead of retreating it moved around behind, trapping him in the Y between middle and ring fingers.  Kind of like a certain tree branch the fox had once had an affair with the summer of his twelfth year.  “Uh…um…okay, molest-y on both sides.  What the fuck are you doing?”

“It works like a quaddy’s does, right?”

Redford’s ears shot up at the implications of the words coming out of this kid’s muzzle.  He was too taken aback to lie, or even embellish; he simply nodded.  “The, uh, concept is the same, yes.”

“Okay, so give it a minute.”  With that, the red panda’s fingers closed around the swelling at the base of the fox’s sheath.  And held it.  No tugging, no squeezing, just a gentle hold.

But stuff was already starting to happen, stuff Redford hadn’t felt in many years.  

“How long does it usually take?”

The fox began to tremble.  He was still nose-to-nose with the boy, that breath sending him helplessly, hopelessly down a one-way path he wouldn’t be able to care less about in the next minute.  “You don’t have to do this.”  It *really* sounded more convincing in his head, before he said it.

“It would be kinda cruel not to.  I’m not totally naïve.”  Then, something unexpected:  his eyes fell, but the side of his lip curled up in a sheepish half-grin.  “We have a collie.”  The blush lit his cheek ruffs up even more.  “His name is Magnum.”

“Holy mother of God,” Redford whispered, and the countdown began.

The pressure was light, but constant.  Just enough to keep triggering the nerves without causing discomfort, just enough for a slow, steady buildup.  He couldn’t look Radley in the eye; he felt far too vulnerable for that.  But it was also that vulnerability speeding him along toward a crashing climax.  One out of not obligation nor coercion, but plain old niceness.

“Is it working?” Radley ventured.

“W-what do you think?” Redford groaned, rotating his hips so his leaking tip slid through the unbearably-soft, unbearably-warm fill around it, furthering the sensation with extra lube.  From outside, barely audible above the rest of the din, came the ten-minute warning for boarding their flight.

Without having to let go of the fox, Radley stood up; Redford was chest-level with the kid.  “Almost?”

Almost.  His lower body had started to tense, his tailhole spasming at intervals.  Yet he didn’t move a muscle; this was a light tug and nothing more.

“Here,” said the red panda, and at the weight of a paw on his head Redford found himself being pushed down level with Radley’s soggy, swollen crotch.  The paw moved behind his ears and BOOP his nose was buried in that wonderful space between thigh and diaper where musk and soap and pee and cinnamon and cedar all came together in a potpourri too strong to resist.

So Redford snoofed.  He snoofed up and down, deep in the crevice and even halfway around the back, going for as much scent-memory as he could input while he was in this fortunate position.

“Tickles!” giggled the red panda, shifting from heels to toes on alternating legs.  “Cold and wet!”

“Mmmhhh, that’s how you know I’m healthy.”  Redford was so far back he could swear he smelled panda balls.  Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and would make him blow in no time.  He wrapped his arms around one of Radley’s legs and used it as leverage to slam his snoot as deep as it would go, closed his eyes, and concentrated.

First he went back to that summer of his childhood, and his favorite Y-branch in the forest outside town, where other kids were scared to go and adults weren’t curious enough to care. But very quickly things took a decidedly more feral turn.  He wondered what Radley and Magnum had been up to at home, and from there his imagination went wild.

It was too much, in the sense that it accelerated an already hurried process, and when the kid’s fingers tightened enough to approximate a tie, the fox dissolved into a series of whimpers punctuated by a growl here and there.

After that, stars exploded behind his eyelids and the world faded away as if he’d just done a fat whippet.  He didn’t just have a dick, he WAS his dick, everything was sensation.  

WHOOMP WHOOMP WHOOMP hammered his heart in his ears.

TWINGE TWINGE TWINGE hammered his load, through the pipes and out and all over the padding and Radley’s paw, along with a good portion of his wrist.  Redford didn’t even know when he started shooting blanks; his whole existence was one earth-shattering pulse after another.

After the world righted itself again, and he was sure he wouldn’t make a fool of himself trying to stand up, he ventured to open his eyes.

Radley stared down at him.  “Geez, I thought the whole ‘foxes go yiff’ thing was a rumor on the playground.”  Pulling his paw, he brought it to his nose to give it a perfunctory sniff.  “I think I’ll need to go to the bathroom to rinse off my arm.”

Too weak to defend himself, Redford only managed, “That…is one lucking fucky collie.”  Still on the ground, still on his back, the fox stared dreamily up between the red panda’s legs, already wishing he could have more time with this newly-minted sog monster.

While the kid wiped off as best he could and set himself to rights, Redford got to his knees and hiked his diaper before doing up his shorts around it to keep it in place; it was a bit heavier than before and the downward tug gave him a grin as he stood to finish up.

“Since I’m in First Class,” asked Radley, “would it make sense for me to go wash off and just get in line?”

“You’re pretty on the ball for someone who just pissed himself.  But yeah, that’s about all you have time for.  If you get any weird looks, just tell ‘em your adoptive dad is in the pod cleaning up.  Worse to worst, I show ‘em your waistband and they’ll be all, ‘Oh, I understand.’”

Radley elevated a curious eyebrow, ears flicking the fox’s way.  “How do you come up with excuses so fast?”

“With a lifestyle like this, it almost becomes second nature,” Redford admitted.  “You’re always looking for just enough plausible deniability to shut someone up without raising more questions.”  Nodding, the red panda glanced toward the pod door.  They were out of time and out of action; only one thing left to do.

“You’d better get—oof!”  Radley’s arms were around his waist, the kid’s head having knocked out some of Redford’s air.  He smelled his own pee and cum on the kid’s arm, which was really hot in a way, but found himself hugging back sincerely but platonically.  “So, you’re not totally weirded-out?”

Giggling into the fox’s belly, Radley said, “A little weird, but mostly good.”  He stepped back.  

“No feelings of regret?”  Redford knew he was fishing selfishly, but he wanted to know.

“You helped me,” Radley said.  “And I really didn’t think anything else would’ve worked.  So you kinda had to, in a way.”

*Ah, kid logic,* thought the fox, putting a paw on the wah’s shoulder to steer him toward the door.  “Alright you, go wash that sin off your arm and get on that plane and enjoy your infinite knee-room.  When you’re forty it won’t be that comfortable.”

Radley snickered, his eyes twinkling over what they had just gotten away with.  He looked back one more time as he grasped the door handle and turned it, a little inelegant with his baggage in the way but he made it.  As soon as the door shut again Redford locked it and started a five-minute timer.  

When it went off, he would make his own inelegant exit with his own baggage and board with the rest of the plebes.

No one ever suspects the guy in 38F.

*

FIN
7/10/23