THE HARD SELL
OR...
SPERM WARFARE

	Early May brought rain to Salmon Hat, the way it did to most places.  Nestled between the two 
mountain ranges that defined the width of the province of Columberta, Salmon Hat had little else going for it 
but the university which bore its name.  But the crafty citizens of the new province had made enough out of 
it...
	Clyde was already in the dorm kitchen when Scout came downstairs.  “Mornin’,” Clyde drawled, 
his throat still sleep-locked.  “Sleep well?”
	“Not too bad; you?” Scout replied, pouring himself a cup of the coffee Clyde had already made, 
God bless him.
	“Like a log,” Clyde nodded.  Then added, “After Barb left around five...”
	Scout frowned, stirring his coffee and sitting.  “Then what the fuck are you doing up so early?”
	“What the fuck are you doing up so early?” Clyde said.
	“I’ve got that house to show today, remember?”  He sipped.  “The Fernbys are back again.  
They’re definitely interested, Clyde.  I just wish I could figure out what to bait the hook with.  The 
husband’s checking finances with the bank and everything, but they still haven’t signed a goddamn thing.”
	Clyde rose; he was wearing his summer cut-offs with the arse rips.  He stood his rodentide body 
firmly, back to Scout, as he poured himself more coffee, and Scout surveyed him.  Clyde’s white fur was still 
sleep-disheveled, but Scout was wishing he didn’t have to leave quite so early.  As for himself, Scout was 
wearing his jeans, pressed, but was still barechested.  He looked down into the reflection in his coffee; all he 
could make out was his right eye and cheek, floating in the irregular white blaze; the rest of his face was too 
closely coloured like the coffee to show up at early light.
	Clyde had turned, leaning on the counter, and seemed to be reading his mind.  Grinning, he said, 
“You sure you don’t want to bend me over the counter before you go?”
	Scout sighed.  “That’d be great, but remember how upset Lisa got when she walked in on it last 
time.  All that hygiene noise...”
	Clyde waved it off.  “She was just jealous.  Besides, we both made a liar out of her,” he winked.
	“And besides,” Scout continued, “I have to go and make sure the place is perfect before they show 
up.”
	Clyde shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  Then he turned and jerked his shorts half-down his right 
asscheek, its plush white firmness teasing.  “This butt’s for you,” he winked.
	“Stop it,” Scout told him.  “I got work to do.”
	“Work,” Clyde snorted.  “Showing some middle-class cow around an empty house, that’s work?”
	“Especially when you put it like that,” Scout muttered.
	Clyde padded over behind Scout and took his shoulders.  “Maybe if you give her a tour of Scout 
McIntyger instead and let her try out some of the fixtures, she’ll bite...”  He kissed Scout on the top of the 
head and nuzzled him playfully.
	Scout snickered.  “What would she give for a tour of Clyde McNutter?”
	“Oh, Scout...  Her first-born child.  Whatever Clyde asked...” the white-furred lothario replied.
	Scout laughed.  “I wish I could fuck my way to a commission.  She’s a bit old for me, though...”
	“Older women know more, Scout,” Clyde purred.  “Of course, there’s something to be said for 
younger women, too...”
	“We want ‘em!!” they chorused, and broke into laughter.
	“Shut up down there!!!” somebody yelled from upstairs, thumping the floor.  Exams were over; no 
one was interested in being up at 7:30 a.m. without good reason.
	Scout and Clyde rolled their eyes but were cowed to silence like small boys.  Quietly Clyde pointed, 
“You going to show a house dressed like that?”
	“It’s casual.”
	“How casual?” Clyde smirked.
	“Get your mind out of the gutter, Clyde.”
	“Why, now that I’ve finally got it someplace comfortable?” Clyde grinned.  “Well, you’ll want to 
look your best otherwise.  Sure you don’t want me to polish your pecker for you?”
	“I’m sure, I--”
	“I’ll give it a spit shine...”
	Scout laughed.  “There’s not time, Clyde.  Really.  But I promise you...  If you’re free when I get 
back, you can clean me all over.”  He rose, and gave Clyde a kiss on the cheek.
	“I’ll be here with balls on,” he growled at Scout.  “Okay...  We’ll bump tails when you get back.”
	Scout grabbed his case and headed for the door.  “No test-firing before I get home!”
	Clyde snapped his fingers in feigned frustration and smiled.


	The house was a medium-sized bungalow built in the sixties in a neighbourhood now well-treed and 
distinguished, near the corner of Queen and Victoria Sts.   It had wooded siding and was painted a 
conservative pale yellow, and so was rather unlike the all-brick houses Scout was used to back east.
	There was really nothing wrong with the house that would have required Scout’s attention.  It was 
fine, exactly the way it had been when he’d shown it last week, except that the agency had vacuumed and 
dusted since then.  It was a nice house; a split-level with two-and-a-half bathrooms and a large open kitchen 
with skylights.  Scout liked the place and would have been sorry to let it go if he hadn’t been making money 
off the sale.  The summer job selling homes was part of his co-op programme.  It was interesting, sort of, 
but he couldn’t see making a career out of it.  Look at it as an adventure, he told himself, grinning.
	The doorbell rang, softly mimicking the first eight notes of the hour chimes of Big Ben.  Jumping, 
Scout folded his paper and got his feet off the kitchen table.  How puke-inducingly sweet, Scout thought of 
the bell as he hurried to open the door.  That’s the one thing about this place I’d change.
	Scout patted his hair, smoothed his fur, straightened his pullover and opened the door.  “Mrs. 
Fernby!  How are you?”
	With Mrs. Fernby, Scout noticed, were two youngsters.  Both of them bore her a clear resemblance 
and Scout knew them at once to be her children.  The younger, a boy of seven or eight, sniffed nerdishly at 
the house.  His hair was dark and close-cropped, and he wore glasses too big for his head.  The girl, a 
teenager but only just, stood looking bored and had, Scout guessed, been forced to come here.  She too 
wore glasses; her hair was long and black and surrounded her face, curled outward like the petals of a 
flower.  Though far too young to be enrolled, she wore a bulky pink sweatshirt with “Salmon Hat 
University” on it, and blue jeans that were well-worn and evenly faded, sporting a rather deliberate-looking 
rip across the left knee.  They hugged her hips, newly curved by Mother Nature, and the cuffs gripped her 
ankles like steel bands.
	Mrs. Fernby, rather plumper than her daughter but with a face full of warmth and delight, beamed 
at him, stepping across what would, hopefully, soon be her own threshold.  “I’m fine, Mr. McIntyger.  How 
have you been?”  No matter how often he asked her to call him Scout, she insisted on using his last name 
and the honorific.  It was the first time in his life anyone had treated Scout like a full-fledged adult, and he 
kind of liked it.
	“This is it?” the girl said, plainly.
	“Yes,” Mrs. Fernby smiled.  “What do you think of the colour, dear?”
	The girl surveyed the hallway as they stepped in.  She shrugged.  “It’s alright.”
	“I think it sucks,” the boy said, offering his unsolicited opinion, and then snickering.  The girl 
looked at her brother with undisguised impatience.  The boy was preparing to make a foray into the house 
when his mother caught him by the collar and pointed at the ‘disciple’  at the base of the wall.
	Scout saw an opening for a selling point and said, “It’s one of the latest models.  You can come in 
off the street in the sloppiest day in January and be in your living room ten seconds later...”
	Mrs. Fernby glowed with appreciation, and Scout felt a twinge of salesman’s pride.
	The boy obligingly stuck his feet in one at a time and the machine rapidly washed and dried them, 
making them appropriate for the indoors.  His tail flicked with boredom as he waited, and then he bounded 
into the hall.  The girl and Mrs. Fernby used the disciple as well and then followed Scout.
	“I thought the children should see the house before we really sign anything,” Mrs. Fernby told 
Scout.
	“Is Mr. Fernby not with you?” Scout inquired.
	“No, he’s at the bank, checking our finance with the loan officer.  For this house, ...or some other,” 
she said, not unpleasantly, but the pressure was implicit.
	Scout nodded.  “Of course.  Will he be by later?”
	“We have to go pick him up in a half hour or so.”
	Scout noticed the girl eyeing her mother with a raised eyebrow.  So did her mother.  “Oh, yes, of 
course.  I’m sorry.”  She turned to Scout.  “This is my daughter, Gillian.  Gillian, this is Mr. McIntyger.”
	Scout wanted to offer his first name to the girl, but decided if Mrs. Fernby weren’t comfortable 
with it, she wouldn’t want her daughter calling him by his first name either.  So he simply offered his hand 
and said, “Nice to meet you.”
	Gillian looked at him with a condescending smile and took his hand.  She locked eyes with him in a 
strange way, and Scout hardly noticed she was shaking his hand till she dropped it.
	“I’m Wayne,” the boy said, pre-empting his introduction.
	“Hi, Wayne,” Scout smiled.
	“Hi!”
	“Do you think we could start upstairs, Mr. McIntyger, and show the children where their rooms 
will be?”
	“Certainly, Mrs. Fernby,” Scout smiled, and led the family upstairs.
	Scout showed them around the house, rerunning the details past Mrs. Fernby, who seemed just as 
interested as she had the first time, and answering Wayne’s periodic and always inane questions.  Gillian 
remained detached; attentive, but offering no hints as to her opinion of the place.  From time to time Scout 
would glance at her and adolescent ideas would play in the back of his mind; then he would push them under 
to drown and move on.  By the time the half hour tour of the home was up, Scout knew that Mrs. Fernby 
was still interested, Wayne thought certain features of the house were “neat”, and Gillian couldn’t have 
given a tinker’s damn either way, and probably saw this at best as an excuse for a day off from school.  
Scout found himself resenting the girl as the only real obstacle now to a successful sale that would put real 
money in his pocket.
	“I think,” Mrs. Fernby smiled, “you just might have a sale on your hands, Mr. McIntyger.”
	“Hmm,” Gillian offered, one corner of her mouth pulling tight.
	Mrs. Fernby’s tail suddenly rose with concern.  She looked at her daughter’s face.  “What’s wrong, 
Jilly, don’t you like this house?”
	Gillian shrugged.  “It’s okay, I guess,” she sighed.  Scout’s heart dropped out of him.
	“It’s neat,” Wayne enthused.
	“What don’t you like about the house, honey?” Mrs. Fernby urged.
	Scout did his damnedest to look disinterested, but he briefly considered murder as the solution to 
the problem...
	“Who said I didn’t like it?” she frowned.
	“Well, maybe we’ll talk about it on the way to pick Daddy up,” Mrs. Fernby suggested.
	“You go,” the girl said wearily.  “I want to wait here.”
	“Now Gillian, don’t be spiteful...”
	“I’m not being spiteful; I just want to see if I get a feel for the place, that’s all,” the girl snapped.
	Mrs. Fernby grimaced slightly, and said, “We can’t just leave you here.  Mr. McIntyger has things 
to do.”
	But Scout saw his chance -- however slim -- to work on the kid and change her mind.  “No, that’s 
quite alright, Mrs. Fernby.  I’ve got nothing to do but sit here and wait until you and Mr. Fernby get back.  
It would be absolutely no trouble.”
	Mrs. Fernby’s face showed a mother’s concern at the thought of leaving her child with a stranger, 
but, after all, the girl was a young woman, and the stranger was at least known to her, and the trip would not 
be long.  “Welllll...  If you’re sure it’s no trouble...”
	Scout smiled amicably.  “None at all.”
	“Jilly, you do what Mr. McIntyger says till I get back...” her mother instructed.
	Gillian rolled her eyes.  “Yes, Mother, of course...”  The tiniest bite of a sneer carried through in 
her voice.
	Mrs. Fernby sighed and shook her head, and, collecting Wayne, was gone without another word.
	Gillian strolled to the bay window in the living room and watched through the diaphanous curtains 
as her mother and brother got into the car and drove away.  Then she glanced over her shoulder at Scout, 
the smallest hint of a smile on her pert little muzzle.
	Scout decided to start the ball rolling by offering his friendship.  “Since it’s just you and me, why 
don’t you call--”
	“A little worried?” she asked him, interrupting.
	Scout blinked.  Then again.  “Worried?” he asked.
	The girl did not explain.  She merely shoved her hands into pockets too tight for them and kicked-
stepped her way into the kitchen, whistling.  Perplexed, Scout followed her.
	He tried again.  “If I can call you Jilly, you can--”
	“Call me whatever you like,” she breezed, waving her hand majestically.  “Honey, sweetheart, 
baby...”
	Scout chuckled at her joke.  It wasn’t funny.
	Gillian stood, back to the counter by the sink, placed her hands on the lip of it and boosted herself 
onto it.  She sat, feet kicking the air, and smiled at him.
	Scout smiled back.  Self-conscious, he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs that had been left behind 
and sat in it.
	Gillian glanced at Scout’s clipboard, which he had left on the counter.  She picked it up.  Scout 
stifled a protest.  Gillian’s eyebrows flew.  “Scout??” she asked, looking at him.  “Your name is Scout?”
	Scout looked back at her, irritated by the nakedness of her amusement.  “Yes.”
	“Your real name?”
	“Yes.”
	“Scout???”
	“Yes.  Scout McIntyger.  Want to see my credit cards?” he snapped.
	“Sorry,” she apologized, the grin still on her face.  “Why’d you get that name?”
	“Long story, Gillian.”
	“I got time.”
	He pulled a face.  “I was born on a train; there was no one there to help with the delivery but a boy 
scout.  My mother was grateful and wanted to name me after him, but never got his name.  So: Scout.” He 
opened his arms in a gesture of simple explanation.
	“Interesting,” she nodded.  “That wasn’t so long,” she noted.  And then, as if to be fair, explained, 
“I was named after my mother’s best friend in college.”
	“Well... that’s nice.”
	There was an empty silence -- awkward for Scout, because she was grinning at him, assessing him.  
“Could you please stop staring at me?”
	“You used to be a fauve , didn’t you?” she asked point-blank.
	Scout was utterly astounded.  “How did  you know that?”
	She smiled even wider to learn that her guess had been correct.  “I don’t know,” she told him, 
“there’s just something about you.  It was a guess, but I was right, wasn’t I?”  She played with a glass in the 
sink he’d been drinking from.
	“...Yeah.”
	“I’d love to go fauve,” she said, “and live wild and free.  I think about it all the time,” she went on, 
looking into the glass like a telescope.  “It’s so romantic.”
	Scout lost patience with her arrogance and naiveté at this point, and said, “You ever had fleas?”
	Her nose wrinkled in disgust and offence.  “No, of course not.  But--”
	“Better get used to them.”
	“It’s just a matter of keeping clean...”
	“Oh, you know a lot about it, do you?” he said.  She was quiet.  Scout went on.  “Ever been so 
cold that you were afraid to go to sleep in case you didn’t ever wake up?”
	“...No...”
	“Ever had to pick though rotting logs to eat bugs just so your stomach would have something in 
it?”
	“No.”
	“Did you ever,” he said, leaning forward, “watch your best friend, your very best friend in the 
whole wide world, drown in a river and not be able to help him because you were too busy not drowning 
yourself?  All because you had no way of knowing a flood was coming?”
	Gillian was cowed and silent now.
	“That’s romantic alright,” Scout summed up.
	Gillian gave a moment’s pause before she spoke.  “I’m sorry about your friend.”
	“Thank you.”
	“...But, well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to just go fauve for a couple of weeks... in the 
summer...”
	Scout nodded.  “Sure, a lot of people do that.  ‘Course, it’s not quite the same thing when you have 
a three-bedroom, two-crapper house with automatic ashtrays waiting for you when you get back.”  He 
wasn’t going to let her off the hook.  She apparently saw that, and dropped the subject.  She was quiet for a 
moment.  Then the smile returned and she took another tack.  “Did you do it a lot when you were fauve?”
	“Do what a lot?”
	“‘IT’,” she said, and made a demonstrative gesture.
	Scout’s jaw dropped.  “Like it was any of your business!”
	“It might be,” she said.
	“It isn’t,” he told her.
	“Wait and see,” she told him.  Scout was puzzled.  He was beginning to really dislike Gillian.  
Fucking brat.
	Still kicking the open air, sitting there on the counter, she leaned forward.  She asked him, “How 
much you gonna make off this?”
	“That’s none of your business either.”
	“It is, in a way.  Come on, tell me.  I can find out from my folks anyway.”
	“Three percent,” he replied, cryptically.
	“On how much?”
	“That depends.”
	“On what?”
	“How much your folks decide to spend.”
	Gillian tried another route.  “If -- if -- they paid top dollar -- how much is that?”
	Scout sighed to himself.  “They’re asking a hundred and six thousand,” he admitted.
	“So you would make... just over three thousand dollars,” she calculated.  “And the rest?”
	“The agency gets two percent, the balance goes to the old owners, and the province gets the tax,” 
he instructed, fiddling with one of his pullstrings and feeling his hood pucker at the back of his neck.  “But 
it’s very unlikely your parents will pay the asking price.”
	“What if I told you I could get them to do it?” she grinned.
	Scout looked at her skeptically.  “How?”
	She ignored the question.  “What would it be worth to you?”
	“What do you mean?”
	“I mean, you’d like that, right?”
	“Of course, sure, but--”
	“How would you show your gratitude?”
	Scout had no idea what she was getting at.  The conversation was so ephemeral he wasn’t giving it 
real attention.  “Well, I...  What do you have in mind?”
	She kicked her feet, perhaps a bit nervously now.  She looked at the clipboard again, then picked 
up his well-chewed no. 2 pencil.  Her eyes lit up.  “How’d you like to sharpen your pencil?” she breathed, 
coyly.
	Scout really didn’t get it until Jilly started giggling at the euphemism.  Then, startled, ears back, he 
suddenly realized he was being hit on by a 13-year-old girl.
	“Well?” she said.  “How’d you like to leave some shavings in my hopper?”  Gillian giggled even 
harder at this one.
	Scout couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said, “Jesus Christ...”
	“You any good?” she asked him.  “You worth the three thousand bucks?”
	“I don’t believe this...”  He looked out the window.
	“I want to buy a good deed from you, Scout,” she said, and giggled even more.
	“Don’t talk like that,” he told her.
	“Why?”
	“You’re only thirteen or so...”
	Jilly snorted and laughed.  “So?  Were you doing it when you were thirteen?”
	“Yeah, but it was different.”
	“How?”  She crossed one foot behind the other ankle and kicked her legs as one.
	“...We didn’t have TV or video games,” Scout said.
	“Fuck TV and video games,” Jilly smiled, growling.  Suddenly she seemed to be a whole other 
person.  “Do you want to polish your family jewels in my tumbler?”
	“Where are you getting this stuff?” he barked, frightened of her.
	“From in here,” she tapped her head.  “And here,” she pointed to her heart, “and...”  Gillian leaned 
back and opened her legs.
	Scout swallowed, feeling trapped.  Was this really happening?
	Her smile faded slightly, and she straightened, and asked, “Well?  Do we have a deal?”
	Scout was on his feet; they were slippery; he was sweating.  “What?  No!  Of course we don’t have 
a deal!  What are you talking about?!”
	She frowned at him.  “I’m talking about whether you want to unload this dump or not.  Do you?”
	“It’s not a dump.”
	Gillian laughed.  “Ah, excuse me, but it is.  And I can make my parents believe it in about ten 
seconds...”
	Scout began to see the angle she was coming from.
	“Do you want to sell this place to them?” she asked again.
	Scout eyed her blankly.  “Yes.  Of course I do.”
	“For full price?”
	“That’s not going to--”
	“FOR--FULL-PRICE--???” she demanded.
	Scout nodded.
	Jilly smiled.  “That’s better.  You play ball with me, I’ll play ball with you.  Or maybe I should say 
balls.”
	Scout took a deep breath.  “You’re offering to pitch this place to your parents if I have sex with 
you, is that it?”
	“Yeah.  Guaranteed.”
	“Why?”
	Gillian shrugged one elbow.  “My reasons are my own.  That’s part of the deal, if we have one.”
	“You’re too young,” Scout protested.
	“Is that the only reason?” she challenged him.  “It’s not, is it?  Am I really so ugly that you won’t 
touch me for three thousand dollars?”  She looked hurt.
	Scout stepped forward, and stopped himself.  But he told her, “No, hell, no -- I think you’re 
gorgeous, Gillian.  If you had a few more years on you, you won’t have to pay me or ask me twice -- we’d 
be on the floor right now!...”
	“Then spot me a year for every thousand...”
	Scout sighed.  He stepped up to her, slowly, saying, “Look, Gillian...  I don’t have a problem with 
it, okay?  But the law does.  And your parents certainly will.  And you heard your mother; they’ll be walking 
in that door in fifteen minutes or so...  And there we are, bareassed and sweaty on the tiles together.”
	Jilly looked at him wearily.  “They won’t be back that soon.  Trust me.  And if it worries you, we’ll 
take off just enough to do the trick: our pants.  Okay?  Do we have a deal?”
	Scout wanted to shake his head, but it didn’t move...
	She locked eyes with him.  “The bottom line is, I’m offering you three thousand dollars, almost in 
writing, to have sex with me.  God, when are you going to get a more flattering offer?”
	Scout’s pants bulged in spite of his better judgment.  Inside his head, Scout asked, “Scout, can you 
bone a 13-year-old girl for three grand?”  And Scout answered, “Oh, hell, yes, Scout; I’d probably do it for 
free!!”
	Jilly’s eyes raided his crotch.  “I see I’ve raised your interest,” she remarked.  Scout cursed his 
penis for giving him away.
	Gillian undid the codpiece of her jeans and wriggled them down off her hips.  They slipped down 
her legs and she kicked them off her ankles over Scout’s protests.
	“Don’t do that, Gillian!  What if your parents get back?”
	“Relax,” she told him, smiling and stretching in her semi-nakedness.  “Like I told you, they won’t 
be back for ages.  She said half an hour.  That means well over an hour.  My father takes twenty minutes just 
buttoning his shirt in the morning.”  She regarded him for a moment, smiling, smoldering.  She leaned 
forward, leaning the heels of her hands on the counter lip.  To do this, she had to open her legs.  Wide.  
Opening her sex for Scout, its inviting pinkness glistening in the pale kitchen light.  “What do you think?” 
she asked him.
	Scout stared.  His eyes flew from her cunt to her face and back again.
	Gillian’s musk scented the air...
	She went on, “You do me right and I’ll give an academy performance that’ll have you laughing all 
the way to the bank.  Interested now?”  Jilly fingered herself as she eyed Scout.
	Scout reckoned he’d pop the rivets in his jeans if he didn’t free his cock PDQ.  And he had to 
admit, Jilly had him wanting.  The money thing wasn’t bad either.  But was it worth the trouble if they were 
found out?
	Found out how? he asked himself.  She’s not going to tell.  I’m not going to tell.  The doors are all 
locked, and how long does it take to pull your pants on?  Ten seconds?  Five?  Any excuse will cover that 
much delay answering the door...
	Scout swallowed again, mouth too dry.  He glanced around.  “You’re sure they won’t be back 
soon?”
	Gillian kissed her fingertips and held them in the air.  “Promise.”
	She waited.
	Scout said, “Okay.”
	Gillian smiled.
	Scout smiled as well.
	Their eyes seemed to pull on each other’s, and their faces met somewhere in the middle.  Work 
done, their eyes closed, and they kissed, softly...
	“I’m not going to make it easy for you,” she spoke softly.
	He looked at her.  “What do you mean?” he asked.
	“I like it rough.  I mean, you’re going to have to earn it.”
	Scout’s smile broadened.  Aw, isn’t that cute? he thought.  Okay, chase her around the house for a 
while.  I can handle that, he thought, as long as we don’t waste too much time at it...
	She cocked an eyebrow.  “Think you can handle that?”
	Scout snorted involuntarily.  Gillian’s eyes narrowed and her smile faded slightly.  “Here’s the 
deal,” she growled, smokily.  “You manage to get it in me, keep it up, keep it in, and finish the job, I’ll get 
you top dollar.  You mess up, I’ll tell them I hate the place and you’ll never see us or our money again.”
	Scout didn’t know whether or to feel confident or apprehensive about the whole deal hinging on 
satisfying a teenage girl. “What do you mean by ‘finish the job’?  You or me?”
	Jilly laughed.  “You,” she said.  “In here,” she flashed her femininity.  Then she chuckled.  “Don’t 
you worry about me.  I’ll look after that.”
	Scout blinked.  “Alright, then.  I agree.”
	He saw her chest heave a couple of times with excitement under her sweater.  He watched her peel 
it back just enough to expose her soft tummy and expose her breasts; she caressed them; they were small but 
perfect.
	“Jesus,” Scout whispered.
	Gillian’s lips parted as she watched Scout watching her.  “If we have a deal, then let me see the 
merchandise...”
	Scout had no qualms about being naked; he was only too happy for an excuse.  He opened his jeans 
and got out of them, and his cock popped to attention for inspection.
	Gillian leaned forward and her hands dove onto Scout’s maleness.  Scout smiled, a bit proudly, and 
watched her play with him.  He sighed softly.  “Not bad,” she commented.  She looked up.  “You any good 
with it?”
	“Well, you’ll see, won’t you?”
	“Mm-hm,” she nodded.  “So tell me, Scout, did you come prepared?  Scouts are supposed to be 
prepared.”
	“Eh?”
	“Did you bring a sneeze-guard for your babymaker?” she asked, tapping the head of his cock.
	It took Scout a second to catch the oblique reference, and he stammered, “Uh, no, I -- I didn’t 
expect to... uh...”
	Jilly tsked.  “You’re going to lose some merit badges for this one,” she sighed.
	Scout frowned.  “Stop making fun of my name,” he said, and then winced at how juvenile that 
sounded -- especially standing half-naked with a raging hard-on pointing at a pubescent girl.
	“Sorry,” she purred, sitting back.  “Anyway, don’t worry.  I take measures.”
	On the pill at thirteen?  Scout realized he’d underestimated the girl.
	“It’s difficult to really get into this with you standing over there,” she said.
	“Oh, alright.”  Scout advanced a step or two.  Her hands caught his manhood again and she fondled 
him happily once more.
	“I bet you can chuck a hell of a snowball with this thing,” she said.
	Scout stroked her hair.  She smiled up at him.
	“Time’s a-wastin’,” she said.
	Scout nodded.  He lowered himself slowly and pushed his muzzle against her mound.  The musk of 
her femininity in intoxicated him.  He brought his tongue to her aid.  Then he felt her fingers on his chin, 
lifting his face.
	“Don’t trouble yourself,” she told him.  “I’m more than ready for you.  If it’s all the same with you, 
let’s just cut to the chase.”
	Scout inserted a finger into Gillian’s crotch.  It was true; she was already as hot and wet as an 
August downpour.  He shrugged and stood.  “Okay.  Where would you like to do it?”
	She took his hips and opened herself.  “Here is just fine,” she said.  “Hope you don’t mind standing 
while you work.”
	“I don’t mind,” he smiled.
	Scout placed his hands to either side of Jilly’s hips and swiveled his own hips to get himself in 
place.  Looking down, he guided himself by sight alone as he slipped into her body.  She was wet and 
inviting inside, and he felt the little shudder of joy he always experienced at such moments of introduction.  
From her he felt a few movements of accommodation, adjustment, and a sigh of pleasure.  Piano music 
played sweetly and automatically in the back of his mind, and Scout moved himself orchestrally, as if 
conducting with his cock.  He got a sudden picture of himself in a tux instead of his pullover, up on a 
podium, balling Gillian, with a symphony orchestra below them taking cues from his thrusting hips, and he 
nearly burst out laughing.
	I’ll show her a good time, Scout thought self-confidently.  I’m not bad.  At least, I’ve never had 
any complaints...  If he weren’t the greatest lover who’d ever piloted a hard-on between the twin hills, he 
was reasonably sure he was better than the greasy-furred, backseat gropers she was likely to have been with 
so far, anyway.  “Have you ever done this before?” he breathed, compassionately.
	“Have you?” she snapped.
	Scout was stung.  “Sorry,” he told her.
	“Why don’t you shut your trap and just get on with it?” she told him.
	Scout looked up at her, dumbfounded.  His shoulders dropped and he straightened.  “You’re really 
making me want to do this,” he growled.
	“This isn’t for you, it’s for me.  You get the money.  Just do your job.”
	Scout frowned.  He pulled his body from hers.
	“Hey!” she protested as his cock left her.
	“Fuck this,” he told her.  “I don’t need this.  Stick it up your ass.”  He stepped away from her and 
reached for his jeans.
	“What’s the matter?  Afraid you can’t keep it up?”
	Scout sneered at her feeble attempt to goad him.  “Hey, I’m not some teenage drydick with 
something to prove,” he said.
	“Fine!  Kiss the three thousand good-bye!” she yapped.
	“Go fuck your money, you snot-nosed little witch,” he snapped.  “I don’t need you.  It’s up to your 
folks, not you.  And even if you do piss in the well and they don’t buy, someone else will.”
	“For what?  Eighty thousand?  Seventy-five?  Being a stubborn asshole could cost you five or six 
hundred dollars!”
	“Hey, it’s worth five hundred bucks to me if I don’t have to fuck you!” he shot, stabbing his finger 
at her like a spear.  He reached to pull up his pants, got half way up and caught a look at her face.  Her eyes 
blinked rapidly, her mouth hung slack.  She closed her mouth and swallowed audibly.
	Scout winced and stood, pants collecting ridiculously at his ankles.  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t 
really mean that.  The money doesn’t really matter.  I like you; you’re pretty and it would be fun to do it 
with you.  But we’re having sex,” he said, clutching at the air between them.  “It’s as trusting and as intimate 
as two people can get.  So stop treating me like a piece of shit, okay?”
	Jilly nodded, her eyes glistening...
	Scout stepped up to her, stroking her hair.  “That’s better,” he whispered.  He kissed her cheek; she 
closed her eyes.  He licked at her exposed little tits for a moment, nuzzling them, moving his hips closer to 
hers again, and finally slipping himself back into her with a single deft thrust.
	The pent-up lust of three days unrelieved pulsed in the veins of his manhood.  He felt himself 
ascending quickly, and knew it would not take him long.  It was by far the easiest three thousand dollars 
he’d ever made.  But he noticed that Jilly seemed strangely remote...  She had drawn her knees up wide on 
either side of his hips, making a wonderful target for him to reach into her, but other than that, nothing.  He 
necked with her, kissed her, but she seemed oblivious to it.  He brought his hands to her breasts again and 
thumbed her nipples.  Nothing.  She hardly touched him, except by necessity where their genitals coupled.  
She didn’t seem to be enjoying him at all.  In fact, he suddenly perceived, she seemed to be growing tense.  
Increasingly so, as if preparing herself for something.  For what, Scout couldn’t imagine.  It was just about 
the time that he raised his head quizzically to look her in the face that he found out.
	There was a cross, impatient look on her face.  “Alright, that’s enough,” she said.  “Hit me.”
	Scout wasn’t at all ready to understand this; in fact, he kept fucking her as he laughed, “What?”
	“Hit me!  I told you I like it rough.  They honeymoon’s over.  I want my money’s worth -- so hit 
me.”
	Scout gave her a perfunctory swat on the side of her ass.
	He saw her grit her teeth and felt her grip his cock with her cunt in a way he was certain would 
have been painful and unfriendly had it been her hand instead.  “On the face,” she growled.  “Hard.”
	Scout slowed, some of his urgency leaving him.  “I, uh,” he stumbled.
	“Hit me!!” she demanded, spittle riding her words to his face.
	Scout tapped her cheek, hoping she wasn’t really that serious.
	She frowned.  Her eyes were black.  “Hard,” she said through her teeth, shaking her head.  “You 
understand ‘hard’, you idiot?  Or did you have to eat your brain in the forest?”
	Scout felt his ears flatten involuntarily.  He let just a bit of his anger fly at Gillian with the second 
smack he gave her, but it still wouldn’t have made a five-year-old cry.
	“Not like that,” she snarled, “like this!”  And before Scout even realized it she had drawn her hand 
back and walloped him.
	For a split second, Scout saw stars.  When they cleared, he realized he was standing two steps back 
from her, cock bobbing nakedly in the air between them, still slick with Gillian’s wet.  He lifted his hand to 
his cheek, and he blinked, stung and disbelieving.  Scout’s tongue did a quick automatic inventory of his 
teeth; they passed muster, but he tasted blood.  He touched his lip, glanced at his fingertips, and saw blood.  
“Son of a bitch,” he hissed, incredulous.  He blinked at her, and heard the piano music with a record-
scratching suddenness.
	“You wanna put your cock back in me again, that’s what it’s gonna take,” she told.  “That free ride 
was just to peak your curiosity.  It’s over.”
	Scout’s hurt and surprise were swamped by the sea of rage that suddenly flooded him.  His hands 
balled into fists and he had all he could manage to keep from shutting one of the kid’s eyes up for a week.
	She pulled her sweater over her head; she was gorgeous.  “Take off your jacket,” she demanded.
	Sullenly, like a resentful child given no choice, Scout complied.  He stood completely naked before 
her, wondering what would happen next.
	Gillian propped her ankles on the lip of the counter, opening her legs, exposing the hole where he 
had been so warm, comfortable and happy just moment earlier.  “Fill it up again, Scout,” she said lowly.  “If 
you’re man enough.”
	Scout simmered, torn between dressing, smacking her back, or just getting on with it.  Scout knew 
he was about thirty seconds from cumming, so, frowning mightily at the girl, he advanced to fuck her again.  
His cock was barely wet in her when her hand crossed his cheek again, followed in close order by an ankle in 
his gut, just below the ribs.
	Scout fell off Jilly with a groan.  He no longer restrained himself.  He grabbed Gillian off the 
counter; her feet hit the floor heavily.  Scout plowed her one open-handed across the face.
	Gillian’s glasses went flying and skittered across the kitchen floor.  Scout’s heart stopped for a split 
second, until it became obvious the lenses were plastic.
	He was just turning his head back to her when she sunk her teeth into his left shoulder...
	Scout heard himself make a noise he hadn’t made in years -- the sort of noise made by little kids, 
who suffer life’s hurts so foolishly and routinely.  In some distant, cool, analytical part of Scout inured to 
pain, something perked up at the sound and qualified it, noting its new cadence and resonance, surprised to 
notice how deep it was.  “Congratulations, Scout,” it issued its report, “judging by the vocal characteristics 
of that sound, you are now a full-grown man.  Of course, unofficially, you realize that only little girls squeal 
like that...”  And that part of his mind resumed its dormancy.
	Scout shoved Jilly off of him and his hand flew to his shoulder.  He grimaced, tears squeezing out 
of the corners of his eyes, and he fought to catch his breath.  He looked at the palm of his hand; it was 
shaking and bloody.  “You fucking bitch!!” he spat at her.
	Gillian aimed a kick at his crotch but Scout, though surprised, still somehow managed to duck it.  
He grabbed her arm, spun her around, and shoved it into her back.  She hollered painfully.  The pain in his 
shoulder nudged him on and he jammed her arm higher.  She yelp again, louder.  “What the fuck do you -- 
who do you fucking --” Scout stammered, unable to collect himself and make a coherent, justified protest.
	“Does it make you feel big?” she whimpered, almost yelling, hateful.  “To shove around a girl half 
your size?”  She bucked at the pain, but he held her.  Then, angrily, he released her, throwing her hard 
against the counter.  She caught herself as she fell, barely.
	His eyes shooting darts at her, he turned to gather his clothes.  There was an enraged snarl behind 
him and a sudden impact.  Unready, he hit the floor heavily; a pain shot through the funny bone of his left 
arm and it went partially numb.  All he could think was, Christ, how did she get across the room so fast??  
He struggled uncoordinatedly to rise and then felt the claws of her toes cutting into the flesh of his calves 
and he yelped.  Jilly got a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back; for a moment he was certain he was 
going to kill her.  Swing around and break her neck or crown her with a chair or something.  He felt her 
weight shift, took a calculated gamble, and threw his good elbow up behind him; he felt it connect with the 
side of her head.  He saw her fall over on his left.  Instinctively he landed her, holding her down.  She 
shrieked and tired to get her teeth on him again.  He fought to keep clear, but they found his wounded 
shoulder again and sunk into the soft flesh at the juncture of his shoulder and neck.  Scout cried out his 
distress again, and threw his shoulder down hard.  Jilly’s head slammed against the linoleum and she said, 
“Ow--”, more started than hurt.  Scout’s patience had run out and something in him demanded he give as 
good as he got; without thinking, he bit her shoulder hard.
	Jilly shrieked and clawed at him; he held onto her with his mouth.  Deftly he found and seized her 
wrists and pinned them to the floor by her head.  He shifted his hips to pin her kicking right leg and used his 
own legs to pin her left.  He could taste her blood and it disgusted him, but he was too angry to release her.
	And then it happened.  In an instant, her struggling ceased.  He heard her cry out, and felt her body 
spasming beneath him.  With her bloody shoulder still in his mouth, he was shocked to realize she was 
having an orgasm!
	Scout lifted his head and looked at her; it showed in her face.  He could hardly believe it.  Blood 
oozed where his teeth had wounded her, and his own shoulder throbbed, but he was fascinated.  Shit, she 
wasn’t kidding.  She did like it rough.
	Gillian’s orgasm abated and she struggled again, although rather less urgently than before.  Now 
she assaulted him with her tongue.  “Get off me, you motherfucker!” she screamed.  “I’ll kill you!  You 
fucking bastard!  I’ll squeeze your nuts till they burst!”  She carried on and Scout finally understood the 
rules of the game.  He glanced down, surprised that he was still erect.  In fact, he was as hard as the Rock of 
Gibraltar and twice as enduring; he could have fucked a million Jillies with the same stiff poker.  And now he 
was going to -- all at once.  Without uttering a sound he swiveled his hips such that he kept her pinned, but 
aimed himself at her vulnerability.  She realized his intentions and screeched every threat she could come up 
with, with no regard to plausibility, no matter how physically impossible.  Her legs were too close together 
for Scout to gain entry; he slammed his left knee down between hers and separated them, pushing her legs 
open with his thigh.  He could feel her wetness, her heat laid naked to him, and without a second thought he 
intruded into her.
	Now that she was so worked up -- or maybe because he was -- she seemed even tighter than 
before.  So tight that he wondered if she wouldn’t skin his cock.  Oh, she was beautiful inside.   Hot and wet 
and soft and gripping; he wanted to live in there.  So hard to get into, but so wonderful once you’re there.  
Just like fucking the Pearly Gates, he mused, and smiled to himself.  My cock’s in heaven.
	Realizing he was in danger, he rose up on his arms, still pinning her at the wrists.  She spat at him, 
literally spat at him, missing his face and hitting his chest; he just snarled at her.
	Scout started fucking her with everything he had.  If it was a race, he was going to break the tape 
in record time.  The downy fur on his cock was slicked flat to it and he could feel every bump, every nuance 
of her soft envelope.
	She seemed spent, and began grimacing at his attack.  “Scout, you’re hurting me,” she whimpered 
finally.  “Let me up...”
	He ignored her, concentrating on the building storm at the base of his cock.
	“Please, Scout, I’m sorry!  You’re hurting me -- ow!!!  For God’s sake, let me up -- my legs are 
falling asleep and my arms -- Scout!!”
	Scout acknowledged her now; if only to look her in the eyes and shake his head slowly.  Uh uh, he 
thought at her.  You set the rules.  Don’t try and trick me, devil.  I stop now and I’m out three grand.  
Besides, I’ve earned this...  And I’m gonna have it.  Scout continued throwing himself in her to the hilt, only 
to retreat to the very gates a moment later, and then back.  His arms ached, his back was cramped from the 
odd angle, and his shoulder was a burning, screaming agony, but he gave Jilly just what she’s ordered.
	“Feel it, brat,” he hissed through his teeth.  “You’re mine.”  He saw a smile dash across the stage of 
her face naked, and he guessed he was playing his part to her satisfaction now.
	Scout threw consideration to the wind as his own orgasm seized him by the hips and started 
squeezing him.  He lifted his head and grunted with each wave, finally shouting out as his load thundered 
down his cockhole and punched its way into Gillian’s womb like a hot white fist.  Scout pushed himself into 
her to throw his spunk as far into her as he could; this last part of his body reaching into her to claim her 
deepest depths.  Scout shook, pillared above her, as his cum pumped and pumped out of his body and into 
hers.  The world faded from around him, until there was nothing left but his soul and the orgasm that 
possessed it.  When the world finally began to flow back into him again, he realized with increasing alarm 
that his arms had given him up and he had collapsed onto Gillian; her felt her arms roaming in the fur on his 
back and the soft kisses she was applying to his plush face.
	Scout pulled his face away from hers with a start.  Gillian hurried her hand to his face; her fingertips 
touching his cheek.  “Oh, no, Scout, no, it’s okay...  It’s okay now, Scout...  You’ve tamed me,” she told 
him.  “You’ve tamed me.”  And her eyes welcomed his with such affection that in spite of just coming down 
from his most powerful orgasm in months, he was taken with an immediate desire to have her all over again.
	She reached up and kissed him.
	“Did that satisfy the deal, as far as you’re concerned?” he asked her.
	“Oh, Scout,” she breathed, touching his face, “I’d give you a million dollars if I could...”
	Scout moved his mouth to her neck and kissed and sucked her pelt.  Gillian made wispy noises and 
her hands played on his buttocks, even as his cock still spit slow little beads in her cunt.  He whispered, 
“We’d better get cleaned up...”  With great regret, he pulled his body free of hers and got to his knees.
	“Wait,” she said.  “Wait.  I want to do something to make you feel good.”
	“You just did,” he smirked, getting to his feet.
	“No, no,” she told him, crawling forward.  “No, you did that.  I want to do something.”  She 
moved over to the kitchen chair and beckoned him to it.
	Scout looked at her skeptically.  “Ohhh, I don’t think so.  No way,” he decided.
	She looked hurt.  “Please, Scout.  I swear to God.  You tamed me; I mean that.  I’ll never hurt you 
again--”, and here she smiled, “--unless you want me too.  Please.  I want to do this.”
	Scout stood, uncertain; wanting, but fearing.
	She crossed the heart beneath her pert breast.  “I promise -- if I bite your dick off, you can bite off 
mine...”
	He laughed.  Studied her face.  Desire won out, and Scout dropped his pullover and padded slowly 
to the chair, sitting in it as Jilly beamed at him.  Scout watched her, still wary, as he opened his knees and 
she settled between them...
	Gillian handled his manhood, gently, almost reverently.  Scout felt her warm breath alive on his wet 
penis.  Her tongue emerged and luxuriously caressed him; Scout was reminded of someone savoring an ice 
cream cone.  Gillian danced her tonguetip in the lovehole at the summit of his maleness, and Scout heard 
himself make an involuntary noise of appreciation.  His softening penis engorged again, and Gillian filled her 
mouth with it.
	Scout felt the soft workings of Gillian’s mouth as she carefully, lovingly ministered to him.  Her 
head made slow, even trips up and down his shaft, rising and falling in his lap.  Scout placed his hands on 
Jilly’s head and caressed her.  Gillian sucked his cock with skill and patience, and soon Scout was draped 
back over the chair, head back, and just living to be blown by her.  He laughed inside when he realized that, 
at that moment, he couldn’t have cared less if the kid’s parents had walked right in on them, with his cock in 
their precious daughter’s mouth.  He would invite them to watch.  Scout rolled his head on his shoulders, 
moaning, until finally he was ready, and he looked up at her.  He brought his hands to either side of her head 
and lifted his face from his lap and told her, “I want you...”
	Gillian’s face filled with joy and something that looked like gratitude, and in the most graceful, 
erotic movement he had ever seen, she rolled back onto her tail and raised her legs up, opening herself to 
him like a blossom.
	Scout was awed.  “Oh, baby...!” he uttered, and with an almost matching grace, moved himself 
from the chair and covered her with his body.  Her ankles crossed on his ass under his tail and her arms 
hugged his neck as he made their bodies one again, penetrating her once more.  “Gillian,” he whispered as he 
moved within her, moving like lazy ripples in a pond.  Her tongue met his and the buried themselves into one 
another’s mouth just as Scout was doing deep between her legs.
	They moved on the floor together.  Outside, thunder rolled slowly, heralding the breaking of the 
spring rainstorm, and the windows pattered with raindrops.  Their sex was slow, passionate -- it was 
lovemaking in the truest sense -- and positions changed and limbs met as they moved together to the lip of 
the living room carpet.  Gillian shuddered beneath Scout and cried out her second climax, hugging him to 
her, and Scout kissed her along through it, encouraging her, adding his height to hers as she ascended.
	It was around that time that the doorbell rang.
	Having spent most of the previous two hours in unison, it was no surprise that they cried, “Jesus!!” 
in chorus.  “Holymarymotherofgod,” Scout barked, and as if of one mind, he and Gillian were on their feet 
and diving for their clothes.  Scout threw Gillian’s pink sweater to her; Jilly pulled it on and scrambled 
bareassed for her glasses in the corner.
	“Your pants, your pants,” Scout hissed, and the two of them were in fits of giggles as they tried to 
dress themselves.  Scout pulled his own pants on painfully over his erection; he willed it to go down, but it 
had a mind of its own and defied him.
	The doorbell rang again.
	“They’re getting soaked out there!” Jilly giggled.
	Scout’s cock fought its unjust imprisonment; there was a charge in the chamber and the hammer 
was cocked; but Scout managed at last to ease the hammer back down and flick the safety.  He did up his fly 
and hurried for the door.
	Gillian hauled out a comb.  “Stall them for a sec!” she said.  Scout pulled the bottom of his bulky 
pullover down over his codpiece and hoped they wouldn’t notice the bulge.  He ran his hands through his 
hair to straighten it and opened the door.  He yanked it open.
	The Fernbys, less Gillian, stood on the porch, just out of the rain.  “Hello, Mr. McIntyger,” Mrs. 
Fernby oozed.  “Was there some problem?”
	“Hmmm?  Uh, no.  We just... uh, we didn’t, uh, we were upstairs and weren’t sure it was the bell 
the first time, that’s all,” Scout offered.
	Mr. Fernby looked around.  “Where is Gillian, anyway?”
	Scout glanced back.  “She’s... in the kitchen...”
	“--With Dinah, Jilly’s in the kitchen, I know-ho-ho-ho...” the boy, Wayne, interjected, singing.  A 
poke from Mrs. Fernby silenced him.
	“Oh, come in, please,” Scout motioned.  They did.
	Gillian appeared from the kitchen, dashing into her father’s arms.  “Daddy!  We have to buy this 
place!  I’ll just die if we don’t get it!!”
	“What?  Jilly--”
	“Mother, you’ve got to see the view from my room!  It’s gorgeous!  When the fall comes, it’ll be 
all different colours, and ohhhh...  Please please please, don’t let anyone else buy this place---”
	“Gillian, Gillian,” her father said.  “We haven’t even discussed the offer--”
	“I don’t care!” the girl said, suddenly near tears.  “You gotta buy it!  Oh, please, oh, please...!!!”
	Scout couldn’t believe it.  Mr. Fernby was actually eating this shit right up.  He had looked 
genuinely distressed when Gillian had uttered the word ‘die’ so emphatically.
	“It’s the first place she’s liked,” Mrs. Fernby muttered to her husband.
	Mr. Fernby looked at Scout, smiling vaguely, a man who had just decided that his daughter’s love 
was worth more than any earthly sum.  “Mr. McIntyger,” he said, “I wonder if you’d be so good as to call 
your office and tell them we’re on our way over.  I think we have a deal.  I believe we can sign this 
afternoon.”
	Scout was overjoyed.  He shook Fernby’s hand vigorously with the same hand that five minutes 
early had been stroking Gillian’s naked breasts.  “Thank you, Mr. Fernby!  You won’t regret it!  Wonderful 
news!  I’ll call right away, and they’ll be expecting you.”
	“Thank you.  Well, come on, family, let’s get this show on the road...” Mr. Fernby smiled.
	“Just a second,” Gillian said.  She turned from them and padded to Scout.  “Mr. McIntyger, thank 
you for your time this afternoon.”
	Scout smiled at her.  “It was my pleasure, Gillian.”
	Gillian gave him a smoldering look Scout thanked God her parents couldn’t see.
	She stuck out her hand.  Scout shook it.  Without a word, he stuffed his hands in his tummy 
pocket.
	“Good-bye,” she said.
	“Good-bye,” he nodded.
	Gillian joined her family at the door.  Scout watched her walk with them to the car, get in, and 
vanish.
	Scout wandered around the house for a while.  He eventually returned to the kitchen, the scene of 
the crime, and noticed tiny drops of blood on the floor they had missed.  Thank heavens they hadn’t come in 
here!  Scout erased them with his foot.
	He noticed the windows were open; Gillian had obviously done it to release the musk of their 
coupling, which, in spite of it all, still hung in the air.  The draft was fresh and damp.  Glancing at the tiny 
corner of paper than had been torn from his clipboard, he opened the back door and breathed deeply.  
Shedding his clothes again, he stepped out into the relatively secluded backyard naked, not caring if the 
neighbours saw him.  The rain licked at his wounds, and he sighed.  Settling cross-legged in the grass, he 
eased himself to his postponed release, and thought of Gillian.


	Scout had the windows of his dorm room open as well when he got home.  The spring air seemed 
full of Gillian’s freshness.  He stood barechested in front of the mirror, examining his wound.  It was 
unsightly, but not nasty.  It would heal.  It might leave white patches in his fur, but on his pelt, who would 
notice?
	There was a knock at the door.  Scout glanced back, but remained in at the dresser mirror.  “It’s 
open,” he called.
	In the mirror Scout watched Clyde open the door and step in.  He was still wearing just the ratty 
cut-offs, and his white fur was spotted with grass stains and dirt.  Clyde was bouncing a soccer ball back and 
forth from one knee to the other.  “Hi, Mr. Real Estate!” Clyde joked.  The soccer ball got away from him 
and knocked over a pile of books on the table.  “Shit!  Sorry...”
	“Don’t sweat it,” Scout smiled in the mirror.
	Clyde stepped in and shut the door with his foot.  “Brought you a present -- brain food!” he 
announced, and raised his arms, holding two six packs.
	Scout teased Clyde’s reflection.  “It’s not that weak-ass Midlander shit of yours, is it?”  Scout 
watched Clyde’s shoulders drop and the six packs fall to his sides.
	“When are you gonna stop dissin’ our beer?” Clyde sighed, feigning weariness.
	“When you start making beer and not just watering down yellow food colouring,” Scout grinned.
	Clyde stuck the beer in the fridge.  “Don’t blame me, kimosabe,” he retorted.  “I’m from 
Carolingiana, not Barleyburgh.  Anyway, it’s Truenorthern.  Put fur on your dick, don’t worry.”
	“There’s already fur on my dick.”
	“I know.”
	“That’s true.”  Scout chuckled and turned to face Clyde.
	Clyde closed the fridge and said, “So, land-man, do you think you’re ready for a--  Jesus Christ, 
what happened to you?”  Clyde rushed to Scout with real concern on his face.
	“Remember how you were kidding me about screwing Mrs. Fernby to make the sale?”
	Clyde brightened.  “They’re love bites?  From Mrs. Fernby?”
	“I don’t know if I’d call them love bites...  And they’re from Miss Fernby, not Mrs.”
	“Huh?”
	“Her daughter, Gillian.”
	Clyde air-punched Scout, grinning.  “Fuck, you’re a machine, Scout...!”  He moved to inspect the 
bites.  “Gillian did this?”
	“Yeah.”
	“And did you... uhhhh...”
	“Oh, yeah,” Scout nodded.
	Clyde smiled.  “Atta boy.  How old?”
	“Twelve or thirteen.”
	“Jesus fuckin’ H. Christ!!!  I haven’t fucked a thirteen-year-old since I was a teenager!  Barely ripe!  
Peak of freshness!  You lucky bastard!!  Now come on into the bathroom and you can tell me about it while 
I dress this wound.”
	“Ah, no, fuck it.  Don’t bother.  I--”
	Clyde took on a stern, serious look.  “No, listen to me, Scout.  My Dad was in the army.  I’ve seen 
what can happen if a wound gets infected.  A bite’s a dirty wound.  Now come on.  March.”  Clyde took 
Scout into the bathroom and sat him on the john and began to treat the wound.  Scout spilled out the whole 
episode while Clyde fussed over him, punctuated by Clyde’s comments and questions.
	“Scout, you have all the luck,” Clyde smiled.  He turned the taps and let the water run in the tub.
	“What’s that for?”
	“We’re gonna clean you up proper,” Clyde said.  He undid Scout’s pants.  Scout shifted and let 
Clyde take them off him.  Clyde stepped out of his own cut-offs and tested the water.  “Just right.”
	Scout’s eyes roamed over Clyde’s firm, white-furred flesh, and the promises of the morning came 
back to him.
	Clyde turned to Scout and said, “I think you can--”  His eyes locked on the excitement in Scout’s 
lap.  “Well...!” Clyde remarked.  “Thank God the little maniac didn’t hurt anything vital!”  He laughed and 
moved over to Scout.  “Looks like your pussy-opener came through without a scratch.”
	“It also doubles as an asscracker,” Scout remarked.
	Clyde smiled up at him.  “You don’t have to tell me...”
	“I know.”
	“Do you what else it is, Scout...?”
	Scout smiled.  “What, Clyde?”
	“It’s a tongue polisher.”  Clyde slipped his mouth down over Scout’s burgeoning manhood.
	Scout moaned.
	Water pounded into the bathtub as Clyde slowly, decadently swallowed Scout over and over...  
Scout leaned back, eyes closed, holding Clyde’s head in his hands as the tongue swathed his penis.  Clyde 
took time to lick Scout’s balls, sucking them, while jerking Scout’s shaft softly by constantly to keep the 
level of Scout’s excitement up.  Scout muttered, distantly, “The water, the water...”
	Clyde paused to shut off the taps.  He looked at Scout.  “I can taste her on you,” he remarked.
	Scout, panting softly, grinned.  “What does she taste like?”
	“Pussy, stupid,” Clyde teased.  His mouth took Scout again.
	Steam rose in soft wisps from the bath beside them as Clyde sucked Scout to the heights; building 
and backing off, and then building again.  Finally he granted Scout release.  Scout boiled over in Clyde’s 
mouth, his breathing loud and erratic, his sperm rolling down Clyde’s open throat.  Scout’s orgasm was not 
of the mind-blowing, all-blanking type as before, but of the sort that drains the tensions from the body and 
relaxes one utterly.  Scout melted before Clyde.
	Clyde pulled back, a long, ropy cord of Scout hanging from his lips to the cock that had spilled it.  
He lapped at it, drinking up the last of Scout.  “Feel better now?” he asked softly.
	“Oh, Clyde...” Scout panted, his tongue pink and drooping.  Beads of saliva made their way down 
his chest.
	Clyde smiled.  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said, rising.  He took Scout’s hands and brought 
him to his feet.  “Come on, baby.  That’s it.  Into the water...”
	“Yes, Mother,” Scout snickered.
	“Now we’ve got another reason to clean you up,” Clyde noted, smiling at Scout’s well-used 
pecker.  Clyde knelt with Scout into the hot water, both of them wincing at the temperature.  “Never mind,” 
Clyde said, “it’ll help kill the germs...”
	Clyde took the soap and a face cloth and rubbed them together.  “You just settle back, boy, and let 
me do all the work.  You’re hurt and you deserve a little pampering...” he told Scout, giving himself a quick, 
perfunctory scrub to remove the dirt of the soccer game.
	Scout wasn’t objecting.
	Clyde scrubbed Scout’s chest.  Scout sighed.  Clyde raised Scout’s legs, one at a time, and licked 
the pads of his feet clean.  Scout trembled at the ticklish sensation.  Clyde washed Scout’s calves, his thighs, 
and took particular attention about Scout’s genitals.  Scout seemed to appreciate the extra effort.  Clyde 
washed Scout’s arms and face.  “Turn around, and I’ll do your back.”
	Scout moved slowly, the ache in his left side biting into him, but he managed to turn his back to 
Clyde.  Clyde more massaged than washed Scout’s back, taking his time to work out the stiff musculature 
caused by the assault.  Scout made more appreciative noises, and glanced over his shoulder.  “You forgot 
something.”
	“Oh... what?”
	Scout moved up onto his hands and knees, his sopping tail rising from the water, heavy as lead.  
“My backside.”
	Clyde looked at Scout uncertainly.
	Scout nodded.  “Go on, Clyde.  Do a good job, now...”
	“Scout... are you sure?”
	Scout nodded.  “I need it.”
	Clyde ran the warm facecloth into the crack of Scout’s ass.  Scout shut his eyes.  Clyde set down 
the face cloth and pushed his muzzle under Scout’s tail.  His tongue, hotter still than the water, dove into 
Scout’s pucker, testing it, probing against it.
	Scout whined a little...
	Clyde licked up the crack of Scout’s ass with all the rush of the coming ice age.  Repeatedly his 
tongue crawled along the narrow trench, flesh to flesh, making Scout shudder.  Finally he crawled up 
directly behind Scout, his own erection raging, demanding, reaching for Scout’s body.  He brought the head 
of his cock against Scout’s opening, and smoothed his hands over the junction of Scout’s back and his ass.  
“You ready?” he asked.
	“I’m always prepared,” he said, taking a page from Gillian’s book.
	Clyde smiled softly and gently pushed his body inside Scout’s.
	“Hail the Carolingianan ambassador,” Scout couldn’t help hissing.
	Clyde laughed.  “Ah, diplomacy.”
	Their joking faded as Clyde got down to the serious business of  fucking his best friend.  The water 
lapped at the sides of the tub and their bodies as they moved together.  Clyde held Scout’s hips and watched 
his cock moving in Scout.  “Ohhhh, I’m glad you’re home...” Clyde told him.  “I waited all day...”
	“Thanks for waiting,” Scout told him, feeling Clyde up inside him, the familiar smell of Clyde’s heat 
rising from behind him.  Scout could feel Clyde’s balls flush against his ass as he pushed himself all the way 
in.
	Clyde began to lose himself in the motions, the friction of his skin against Scout’s.   Scout heard 
him panting and gasping behind him, the exertions of the flesh talking the toll of pleasure.  Water splashed 
over the lip of Scout’s tub and onto the floor but neither of them took much notice.  Scout felt Clyde’s 
stiffness harden noticeably.  Clyde leaned forward on his toes, draping himself onto Scout’s back.  His 
thrusts were urgent now, and he pushed his tongue aggressively into Scout’s ear even as his cock grabbed 
for Scout’s guts from within.  Scout heard the grunting, desperate snorts in his ear, and felt Clyde shaking 
above him; Clyde’s arms grabbed affectionately around Scout’s chest and he nailed his cock deep into 
Scout’s ass and fired his regards.
	Clyde’s white essence gushed into Scout, roaring with pent-up need, and Scout thought he could 
almost taste it.  Clyde moaned and cried, orgasm wringing him out just like the facecloth.  Finally, utterly 
spent, he simply collapsed on Scout.
	Scout gave him a few moments to savor the afterglow, but finally smiled, “Clyde?  You’re heavy.”
	Clyde came around and lifted himself off Scout’s back.  “I’m sorry, babe.  You bring out the best 
and the worst in me...”  He pulled his cock free of Scout and at once, like a hunter, Scout spun and pounced 
on him, laughing, splashing water everywhere and pinning Clyde down in a kiss.
	Clyde pushed Scout up, kissing but wary.  “The bandages, Scout,” he mumbled through the kiss.  
“Don’t get the dressings wet!”
	Scout rose up.  “You’re right.  Come on, let’s get out of here.  Water’s getting cool anyway...”
	They stepped from the tub and Clyde drained it.  He took a towel and patted Scout’s fur down as if 
he were a little boy incapable of drying himself properly.  Again, Scout indulged himself.  Clyde patted 
himself partially dry and reached for Scout’s furdrier, but Scout caught his hand.
	“We’re dry enough,” Scout smiled.  “Let’s go to bed, huh?”  There wasn’t much sap left in his 
maple, but it was still tall and wooden, and you could still shake the leaves off it...
	He kissed Clyde.
	“Anything you say,” Clyde purred.  His arm around Scout’s waist, they stepped out of the 
bathroom.  Scout sat on the bed and Clyde sat beside him.  “Three thousand bucks to poke pussy,” Clyde 
shook his head.  “My buddy, the male prostitute,” he teased.
	“Oh, yeah?  Then where’s my two hundred for that poke in the bum you just gave me?” Scout 
grinned.
	“Hey, you should be payin’ me, buddy!”
	“Is that so?” Scout laughed.  “How do you figure that?”
	“Who’s the best cock-pilot you know?” Clyde said, waggling his eyebrows and the tip of his tail.
	“Oh, let’s see, that’d be that guy on the four floor -- what’s his name--”  Scout ducked as Clyde 
aimed a pretended blow at him.  “You are,” Scout amended.  “You know that.”
	“And you,” Clyde said, “were worth every cent of that three grand.”
	They kissed.
	“Want a beer, Scout?” Clyde asked, rising.
	“No -- save them for the game tonight.  I’ve got something better, and a little more appropriate...”
	Clyde regarded Scout.  “Oh?  What’s that, boy?”
	Scout jerked his chin at his pullover.  “Check the pocket.”
	Clyde padded to Scout’s pullover and shoved his hand into the single tummy pocket.  He pulled out 
his fist.  “Motherfucker,” he said, delighted by the two plump joints he found.  “Where’d you get this?”
	Scout smiled.  “Gillian gave them to me just before she left.  Right in front of her folks, too, the 
little devil.”
	“Jesus H. Sundayschool,” Clyde breathed.  “I’ve got to meet this girl!!”
	“Well, then... check the pocket again.”
	Clyde looked puzzled, but did as he was told.  This time, reaching further, he found and produced a 
scrap of paper, clearly torn from the real estate ledgers Scout carried with him.  Clyde read it out loud...

555-6812
Weekdays between 3 and 5
You be 6
I’ll be 9
Then we’ll have
A hell of a time
love G.

	“Oh, man!!!” Clyde enthused.  “I can’t believe it.”  He looked at Scout.  “You going to call her 
again?”
	“I might,” Scout smiled.
	Clyde struck a match from Scout’s utility table and lit one of the joints.  He sat next to Scout and 
drew on it.  He passed it to Scout, who took a hit as well, and passed it back.
	Clyde gasped and straightened out.  “You think...  You think she’d mind if you brought a friend?”
	“We could ask,” Scout replied.  “But I don’t think she would.”
	Clyde smiled.  “Gonna have to stock up on Bactine,” he whispered, taking Scout and lowering him 
onto the bed.
	Scout wanted to make a rejoinder, but his tongue was in Clyde’s mouth, and besides, there really 
wasn’t anything else to say.
 This is an inside joke.  Queen and Victoria is the corner downtown where I catch the streetcar for Queen 
and Parliament every morning, and where I was standing when I plotted this part.
 A device I made up a few years ago for the Cubslaughter world, in which, of course, people generally go 
barefoot and don’t have shoes they can just kick off at the door.  It has a rubber skirt that protects pants and 
dresses when the foot is inserted; it then sprays the foot with a mist of hot water; buffers scrub the fur, and 
then hot air dries the fur.  A wonderful comfort in the winter in particular...
 This is a person, in the Cubslaughter world, who opts out of society to live in the wild -- which is an option 
for such furry folk.  You aren’t taxed, or given any benefits; you are forbidden from handling money, 
operating machinery or using any energy source other than an open fire.  Your property is held in trust five 
years and then either given to your relatives or sold.  You lose everything but your basic citizenship.  
Rejoining society (people like us are called ‘civics’) is an involved official process.



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