Clay

		(c)2002, Wirewolf

  The rain didn't help at all.  What should have been a simple one-mile walk had become 
a three-mile bus ride because of the rain.  Worse, her long ears kept getting tangled in the 
underside of the old umbrella she'd borrowed from her neighbor.  Several sharp pinches 
had convinced her it was better to hold them down and worry about sore muscles later.  
She didn't want to risk cutting her sensitive ears on one of the umbrella's hidden metal 
edges.

  The umbrella wasn't doing much to keep her dry, anyway.  The wind was whipping 
around, getting her clothes damp.  That meant her fur was also getting damp.  She could 
smell it.  She suspected the humans around her could too.

  Essa thought about going home.  She could have easily folded the troublesome umbrella 
and walked back to her tiny apartment.  She could have picked up her 5 year old son, 
Roem, from the neighbor who'd loaned her the umbrella and spent the rest of that dreary 
Saturday playing with him.

  But Roem started school in a month, and he needed two more shots and some school 
clothes.  She needed the money, and Jaspar had promised her seventy dollars to sit for 
him.

  Thoughts of her ex-boyfriend surged through her.  She remembered long nights spent 
posing for him while he painted or sculpted her lithe genemorphic rabbit body.  He used 
to work with her only at night.  He wanted complete control of the light, he'd said.  Essa 
suspected it was because he'd wanted his neighbors to think he was getting laid more 
often than they were.  Jaspar was like that: always competitive with people who probably 
weren't even paying attention to him.

  When the bus pulled up to the stop, she waited until everyone else had boarded and 
swiped their cards before she got on.  The doors closed behind her and the bus's 
pneumatic suspension raised itself to driving height.  She swiped her bus pass through the 
reader and looked to the seats.  Clutching the folded umbrella to her chest, she saw there 
were not many empty seats.

  Toward the back, she spotted two caniforms sitting together, surrounded by a row of 
empty seats on each side.  They were dressed in heavy work clothes and wore steel-toed 
boots.  They smelled of oil, earth and exhaustion.  The grease on their frayed shirts told 
her they were probably mechanics.  The mud on their boots hinted that they worked at a 
construction site, possibly the new apartment building being raised downtown.

  She made her way to the row of seats in front of the two mechanics and sat down near 
the window.  She turned her head to look out the rain-streaked window and tried her best 
to ignore everyone else on the bus.

  It was impossible, of course.  The elderly human couple sitting in the row in front of her 
didn't speak or move, but she could smell their nervousness.  Lots of humans still felt 
uneasy around genemorphs, even smaller breeds like hers.  Her acute hearing let her 
catch a single muttered phrase from several rows behind.

  "God, I can smell them from here."

  That was followed by a chuckle and a soft, "Quiet, they'll hear you."

  What she noticed most, however, was the interest of the two caniforms behind her.  
Essa had no delusions about how she appeared to other genemorphs.  She was small, 
thin, and had none of the features that seemed to draw most males of most species.  And 
yet she could smell arousal from one of the mechanics.  She hoped they would get off the 
bus soon, or at least leave her alone until her stop.

  Essa's ears kept twitching.  It wasn't the humans unhappy about her presence that 
bothered her, nor the possibility of being harassed by the dogs behind her.  She was 
nervous about seeing Jaspar again.  They hadn't parted on the best of terms, and she 
really didn't want to be reminded of their jagged personal history.  For his part, Jaspar 
had left her alone after their breakup.  He wasn't so easily forgotten, though.

  She thought of the few portraits she kept hanging on her walls.  The one of her and 
Roem was a treasure to her, and the watercolor Jaspar had done of the immense oak tree 
in her back yard looked perfectly at home in the living room.  And tucked away in the 
closet, behind a box of her son's old toys, was the self-portrait he'd done.  She just didn't 
have the heart to get rid of it.  She supposed she could have returned it to him, but that 
seemed even crueler than simply leaving it out with the morning trash.

  If only his eyes hadn't been so easily turned, she thought with a touch of melancholy.  
Of his many flaws, his constant need to find a new fem was the only one she couldn't 
handle.  They'd had potential as a couple; she'd felt it from the moment they first met.  
But after a few months of listening to his halfhearted excuses for his behavior, she 
realized he wouldn't change, not for her.

  Essa wondered if Jaspar would want to make love after the session.  That was how 
they'd ended most of her sittings when they'd been together.  He wasn't the most talented 
lover she'd ever had, or the most endowed.  He'd made up for his shortfalls, though, with 
energy.  Lots of it.  Never once had they finished without her soaked in sweat and her 
nerves humming from more than one orgasm.

  It had been a long time, she realized.  Almost a year, in fact.  Thinking about those 
nights did nothing to calm her nerves.  Memories of heated groping, the air filled with 
musky scents and soft, wet sounds made her ache with longing.  Almost a year since 
anyone had touched her with passion, held her, stroked her.

  Her ears dropped in embarrassment when she scented her own arousal.  She cursed 
Jaspar silently, even as she longed to feel him caress her.  A soft whine from one of the 
dogs behind her made her get up.  The bus was close enough and she didn't want to start 
something she wasn't prepared to finish.  Without looking behind her, she got off two 
stops early and walked the rest of the way.  No one else got off the bus with her.

  Jaspar believed in image.  Image was how he made his living, after all.  Even if he'd not 
been an artist he still would have been obsessed with presenting the right image.  The old 
warehouse he rented fit the stereotypical perception of an independent artist.  It's faded 
corporate signs and crumbling brick façade gave the outward appearance of disdain for 
the outside world.  Inside, it was a huge, undisciplined space filled with the many forms 
of expression to which Jaspar had taken.

  Essa had to push the call button several times before Jaspar came to the door.  She 
waited in the warm drizzle, feeling somewhat oppressed by the gray light cast through the 
cloudy skies overhead.  It was the moment she'd dreaded most.  How would he react to 
seeing her again?  How would she feel?  Would he try to rekindle their relationship?  Did 
she want him to?

  Eventually, the tall, heavy steel door opened.  It swung only a few feet before it 
screeched to a halt, grinding its bottom edge against the broken concrete stairs.  Behind it 
was a short, portly, middle-aged raccoon.  "There you are," he said, his voice soft but 
serious.  "Come in."  He turned and walked back into his studio.

  Essa paused, surprised.  That certainly wasn't the reaction she had expected from him.  
She shook out the umbrella and closed it before she leaned it against the wall next to the 
clothes tree.  It took only a moment to slip off the token clothes she wore.  They were to 
prevent being stopped by police enforcing the 'public decency' laws.  She ran her blunt 
claws through her thick brown pelt where her clothes had pressed against her fur, sighing 
softly.  Once her blouse and shorts were hanging on the clothes tree, she ventured further 
into Jaspar's studio.

  She could spot the differences right away.  When she'd left, the majority of his private 
projects were some depiction of her and her body.  The paintings of her, the sculptures 
and sketches of her in sundry poses were all gone now.  In their place were unfamiliar 
works portraying a sultry young feliform with pale orange and white fur.  She'd never 
seen the fem before, but that didn't surprise her.  In the time since they'd split up she 
figured he'd most likely had several new women come and go.

  Something was wrong, though.  The corner of his studio where he did his commissions 
was full, cluttered with works in progress.  She could see a bland looking portrait of a 
bland looking caniform dressed in a human-style suit, the paint glinting faintly in the 
light as it dried.

  The feliform, however, seemed abandoned, ignored.  A thin layer of dust covered all the 
pieces, including a half finished sketch laying over the back of the old office chair Jaspar 
used for some of his still life modeling.

  "Want something to drink?" he asked.

  She looked over at him.  He had one hand on the open door of his refrigerator and the 
other holding a bottle of Red Eagle beer.  He held up the bottle as an invitation.  "Sure," 
she said.  "You mind if I dry off before we start?"

  "Go right ahead.  You know where the bathroom is."  Jaspar got a second beer and 
closed the refrigerator door.

  The damp in her fur had caused it to peak something awful, and it would start her skin 
itching soon if she didn't dry off.  That wasn't the only reason she wanted to use his fur 
dryer, though.

  The bathroom was actually a converted storage room, far larger than it needed to be.  
Some of Jaspar's art supplies were stacked in a corner, next to a pile of rumpled towels.  
Overhead, a window to the outside leaked rainwater.  It coursed down the wall to the 
shelf that held the few toiletries Jaspar used.  Mounted on the opposite wall, far away 
from the leak or other sources of water, was the fur dryer.  She turned it on to a low heat 
setting and stood with her back to it.

  Taking the long-handled pelt brush from its nearby hook, she fluffed out the fur of her 
back.  While she ran the stiff bristled brush between her shoulder blades, she looked 
around for signs of another occupant.  As she suspected, there were none.  Whoever the 
feliform was, she had thoroughly removed her presence from Jaspar's studio.  Only his 
art remained.

  She turned around, feeling a little smug.  Jaspar had always looked at females the same 
way he looked at the mediums of his art.  They were something to be shaped, altered, and 
enhanced by his skill and vision.  He had, in fact, once referred to Essa as being 'clay', 
soft and malleable.  She'd proved him wrong by leaving.

  She didn't linger in front of the fur dryer.  Considering how easily she'd found herself 
aroused on the bus, she didn't want to get herself worked up before they got started.  She 
was quite businesslike as she worked out the peaks of fur on her stomach and breasts.  
She used a higher heat setting to do the fur on her lower body, to help speed up the 
process.

  Finished, she looked herself over in the eight-foot mirror mounted next to the dryer.  
Her soft brown fur was lustrous.  Turning slightly, she could see the faint swirling stripes 
of lighter colors.  Clay indeed!  If anything, he should have called her 'mahogany.'  
Under just the right light, her pelt gave the appearance of being carved of that rich, 
beautiful wood.

  Feeling better about being back in Jaspar's studio, she sauntered casually toward his 
kitchen area.  She stopped to run her hands over the large rectangular chunk of raw 
marble that stood against the east wall of the studio.  It was the most expensive thing 
Jaspar owned.  It was largely gray with ribbons of black and dots of silver liberally 
dispersed throughout.  It had been given to him to use for a commission.  When the 
wealthy buyer died unexpectedly, Jaspar managed to hang on to the slab.  He'd said he 
intended to make a genemorphic version of Michelangelo's "David" from it.  Instead, it 
sat against the wall, waiting.

  Running her fingerpads over the cool surface of the stone, she happened to look over at 
Jaspar.  She froze, seeing him as she'd never seen him before.  He looked...nervous.  Yes, 
that was the only word for it.  He was unmistakably nervous.

  The raccoon she'd known was the definition of confidence.  He was a successful artist, 
sought after by clients and women alike, certain he could obtain anything he wanted.  It 
instilled a measure of arrogance to his nature, but it was tempered by his love of beautiful 
things, both inanimate and living.

  As she hid behind the marble slab, she could see all that was gone.  She couldn't help 
wondering if it had left with the feliform.  Perhaps the cat had taken it from him.  
Whatever had happened, it had left him looking like a distraught teenager, in need of 
comfort and guidance.  She watched a moment longer as he fiddled with, and nearly 
dropped, his bottle of beer.  He put it down and rubbed his muzzle.

  Essa stepped from behind the slab, the smugness gone from her.  Jaspar was a decent 
guy at heart, and it bothered her to see him like this.

  "So, how have you been?"

  Jaspar looked up, the expression of confidence forced back into place.  He hid his 
nervousness well.  He gave only a slight hint that she could scent.  His voice was calm 
and smooth as he said, "Busy, mostly.  You?"

  She nodded agreement.  "My department's been working a lot of overtime.  It's hard on 
Roem.  He doesn't understand."

  Jaspar grunted his sympathy and handed her the bottle he'd opened for her.  "How's the 
kit doing?"

  Essa took a careful sip of the beer, letting her throat get used to the gentle sting of 
alcohol.  "He's still growing into his feet."  She took a larger swallow.  "He's looking 
forward to school.  He wants to make lots of friends."

  The raccoon nodded silently.  He stared at her a moment, a trace of his nervousness 
returning to his face.  "I'm glad you came.  I've been thinking about you lately."

  "Oh?"  She was curious now.  Jaspar hadn't said why he'd wanted her to sit for him 
again.  She'd assumed he had a client who'd seen one of the pieces he'd done of her and 
commissioned a new work.  Perhaps she'd assumed wrong.

  Jaspar moved closer to her and lowered his voice.  "I've been...reminiscing about how 
well we worked together."  He smiled at her, that heart-melting smile of his.  "You know, 
you were the best model I ever had, before or since."  He reached out with his free hand 
and stroked the fur of her nearest arm.

  That was the trigger, the one she'd prepared herself for long before she'd even left her 
apartment.  She liked him, had loved him once.  But that didn't change who they were.  
She barely hesitated to say the words she'd rehearsed.

  "It won't work, Jaspar."

  Taken off guard, all the raccoon could say was, "Huh?"

  Essa studied him a moment.  A deep breath helped to fortify her.  "This is old territory," 
she said, not unkindly.  "I don't want to walk it again."

  She couldn't help but feel bad for him as she watched him slide from surprise to 
disappointment, then to his oldest, strongest defense: indifference.  She hadn't wanted to 
hurt him in any way.  She knew, however, that getting tangled up in a relationship with 
him again would eventually hurt both of them.  It was simply better this way.

  "If that's how you feel."  He waved toward the long, cloth upholstered couch in the 
center of the living area.  "I was thinking of a simple recline, left side, with your left arm 
propping your chin and your right laying on your hip."  Turning, he stalked off into the 
bathroom.

  Essa was surprised she'd won so easily.  Jaspar could be most obstinate when he wanted 
something, or someone.  She couldn't help feeling smug again.  She'd won the argument 
before it had really begun.

  Her satisfaction dimmed quickly, though.  It wasn't like him at all.  What could be 
bothering him so much that it would change his behavior to such an extent?  Was 
something seriously wrong?  Was he sick?

  Jaspar reappeared carrying a 5-pound block of sculpting clay.  Essa watched him 
intently.  No, she decided, he didn't look or move like he was ill.  She already knew he 
didn't smell of any illness.  She would have noticed that the instant he'd met her at the 
door.

  Her ears drooped in mild embarrassment when Jaspar planted his empty hand on his 
wide hip and said, "Well?"

  "Sorry," she said quietly as she set her beer down and assumed the requested pose.

  The morphic raccoon pulled up a stool and a small worktable with a nonstick top.  He 
thumped his clay down and settled into his work.  He kneaded it and rolled it until he 
reacquainted himself with the clay.  Then he began working it into its basic form.

  The hardest part of sitting for Jaspar was that he wanted to work in silence.  Essa had 
suggested music on several occasions, only to be rebuffed.  Any time she tried to start a 
conversation, he would interrupt with, "I'm working."

  While Jaspar was forcing the clay to his will, Essa wondered.  What had happened to 
him?  Had the feliform hurt him so badly?  Was his age starting to bother him?  He'd 
once had a few too many Red Eagles and confided the only detail about his family he'd 
ever mentioned in her presence.  His particular line of raccoon genemorphs had a history 
of severe arthritis.  Perhaps his slim, nimble hands were starting to hurt him.  Losing the 
ability to easily express himself with his many forms of art was something he feared.

  As Essa watched him address the clay, it seemed he was not hampered in any physical 
way.  His black furred hands appeared to be doing what he wanted without any scent of 
pain.  He wasn't trembling or stiff in his movements.

  Then she happened to notice the set of his ears.  They were canted back a bit, as though 
he were struggling with his feelings.  She watched a while, paying more attention to his 
face than his hands.  The longer she watched, the more concerned she became.  In a 
matter of minutes he seemed to waver more and more between frustration and anger.

  When he stopped moving altogether, she finally spoke up.  "Are you alright?"

  "I'm fine," he said without looking at her.  His scent said otherwise, but she didn't 
argue.  He applied himself to his work again.  She could smell the faintest trace of fear 
from him now.  Glancing down at his hands, she was surprised to see that he was having 
trouble with the basic form of her reclining figure.  Her body was all out of proportion, 
and he didn't seem able to fix it.  He'd tried using intentional exaggeration in his style 
once, but hadn't liked the result.

  Jaspar suddenly wrapped his nimble hands around the clay and crushed it into a 
formless lump, startling her.  "I don't like this pose," he said darkly.  He looked up at her, 
his ears quivering.  "Try...try sitting up.  Umm, cross your ankles and spread your knees a 
little.  Yes, now...uh, now lay your arms across your stomach with your palms up.  No, 
like..."  He held his arms to demonstrate and she copied him.  "Yes, now lay your head 
back and drape your ears behind you.  Good, that's good.  Push your shoulders back a 
little.  There.  Now hold that."

  Essa could no longer see him with her head laid across the back of the couch, but she 
could easily hear the smack of the clay hitting the table as he reformed it.  She closed her 
eyes and concentrated on the sounds echoing in the large studio.  She could hear the 
slight squelch of the clay being rudely forced into its new shape.  Once Jaspar had the 
basic form, he began drawing his fingerpads over the model, pressing here and there to 
alter the shape in more subtle ways.  All she could hear now was the tiny creaks his seat 
made and his distressed breathing.

  The stool stopped creaking and Jaspar was breathing hard.  Essa didn't move until she 
smelled the intense scent of his anguish.  She raised her head to see Jaspar staring at a 
clay model that looked only vaguely like her.

  "I can't do it," he whispered.  "I just..."  He looked so forlorn, so lost.

  "Jaspar?" she said quietly.

  He raised his hands before him and it shocked her to see them shaking.  Essa suddenly 
feared something *was* physically wrong with him.  The look on his face showed equal 
parts grief and resignation.

  The alarm was evident in her voice when she asked, "Jaspar?  What is it?  What's 
wrong?"

  The raccoon dropped his clay-crusted hands to his lap and closed his eyes.  "Essa," he 
said softly.  "Am I still attractive?"

  Attractive?  Was that all?  She almost laughed in relief, but held back when she realized 
how serious this was to him.

  She took a moment to look at him.  To her eyes, he hadn't changed much.  There was a 
touch of gray on his muzzle that hadn't been there before, and his paunch had expanded a 
bit.  Beyond his physical form, though, she saw what she had seen the first time they'd 
met.  He was a highly talented artist and a man of immense passion.  Even with his ears 
laid back and his muzzle tucked in defeat she could see what had attracted her to him.

  Essa hesitated.  She didn't want to admit those feelings any more.  She'd tried to let 
them go, choosing instead to remember the hurt he'd caused her.  She didn't want to be 
hurt again.

  She couldn't forget, though.  That was simply impossible.  She could no more ignore 
memories of Jaspar than she could ignore Roem.  Seeing the pain on her old lover's face 
stirred feelings of sympathy for him.  Whether she liked it or not, she cared about Jaspar.

  "Yes," she said quietly.  "You're still attractive."

  He looked up at her.  The struggle showed in his eyes.  He wanted to believe her.

  Essa sighed, knowing she was going to regret her next words.  She also knew she would 
feel worse if she said nothing.  "Jaspar, tell me what's wrong."

  "Cinaal took my muse."

  She waited patiently for him to say more.  He didn't, and she shook her head.  It wasn't 
bad enough she felt sorry for him when she didn't want to.  Now she was irritated 
because he was making no sense.

  "What do you mean?  Who's Cinaal?"

  The raccoon simply turned his head to stare at the clutter of work depicting the feline 
fem.  That answered one question.  Before she could ask the other, he spoke.

  "She told me I'm an old fool.  An ugly old fool who thinks everyone should love him.  
She called me a talented fraud."  His voice had softened to a whisper and his ears were 
hard against his skull.

  Now she understood.  The feliform *had* hurt him.  She'd found the weakest spot in his 
ego and torn into it mercilessly.  She considered whether Cinaal had done it on purpose 
or out of ignorance, but decided it didn't matter.  The damage was done, and now her 
conscience was telling her she would have to make things right.

  She sighed.  It hardly seemed fair.  No one had comforted her when they'd separated.  
Well, no one except Roem, who was far too young to know what she'd needed.

  Essa couldn't be bitter about it, though.  Seeing the look on Jaspar's face, the dejection 
in his eyes; she simply couldn't turn her back on him.  "Jaspar," she said quietly, "It 
doesn't matter what she said.  You're still the same person you always were, regardless 
of what she said."

  "No, you don't understand."  The distress was heavy in his voice.  "I can't do anything 
anymore.  I can't draw, I can't paint, I can't sculpt.  And I can't..."  He swallowed.  "I 
can't get anyone to sit for me.  No one has time for me."  He looked up at her, the corners 
of his eyes glinting.  "I'm old and ugly and no one loves me.  It's been months since I..."  
He dropped his head to his hands in shame.  "Cinaal was the last.  Now..."  Jaspar's thin 
fingers pressed the sides of his head and a note of anger surfaced in his voice.  "Now I 
jack off in the bathroom like a kit hiding from his parents!"

  Her conscience wobbled.  The memory of seeing him lust after other fems still stung.  
But she also felt genuine sympathy for him.  Worse, she felt the stirrings of her own 
arousal again.  Even the half-formed idea of making love to Jaspar again made her nerves 
tingle.  She was only a little surprised to see her hand reach out for him.

  Jaspar reacted to her light touch by gently grasping her hand and looking in her eyes.  
He rubbed his eyes with his other wrist, careful not to get any clay in them.  He smiled 
slightly, and Essa knew this had been his intent all along.  She couldn't be angry with 
him for it, though.  It was simply how he did things.  He truly needed her right now, and 
she was feeling a similar need.

  But that didn't make her feel any better about giving in to his needs.  Essa had to know 
that this wouldn't end up the way their whole previous relationship had.  She wanted to 
ask him, but didn't know how without insulting him.  She tried to come up with 
something.  She took a breath and said, "Jaspar..."

  To her dismay, he took that as an invitation.  "Essa," he replied, moving himself to sit 
next to her on the couch.  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the pad of her palm.  
She sat motionless, caught between alarm and desire.  She had never before needed 
something she didn't want with such intensity.

  It was her need that kept her silent as Jaspar reached around her neck and gently pulled 
her to him.  He gave her a kiss that felt full of his old confidence.  When she felt his left 
hand draw across her stomach and rise to her breasts, it seemed to break the spell.  She 
pulled back from his kiss and shook her head.  "Jaspar, no!" she gasped.

  The raccoon leaned back as if he'd been slapped.  Essa could still feel the conflict, her 
need fighting her ego.  She desperately wanted to keep things from getting out of hand, 
but was no longer sure she could.  Her body was crying out to be held, and her heart was 
pleading not to be broken again.

  Jaspar looked confused.  Then his expression turned to anger.  "If you came here just so 
you could tease me..."

  It was getting to be too much.  She felt tears gather in her eyes.  She didn't want to cry, 
but she was frightened of what could happen if she did what her body wanted.  And she 
never considered tormenting Jaspar with false hopes.

  "Jaspar, please," she said, her voice a weak rasp.  "You don't understand.  You're going 
too fast."

  The raccoon's expression softened.  "I'm sorry.  I thought..."  He sighed.  "It's been a 
long time.  I just..."

  "I know."  Essa sniffed.  "It's been a long time for me, too.  But I don't know how I feel 
about it."  She listened to her heart and to her body, trying to reconcile the two halves.  
She felt helplessly torn.  "I want-"  Stopping herself, she looked Jaspar in the eyes.  It 
scared her a little, telling him what she felt for him, how much she needed his touch right 
now.

  But he was just looking at her, listening to her.  He was paying attention, waiting for 
her.  That in itself was different.  Essa wondered if being hurt by the feliform had perhaps 
tempered his vanity.  If it had, perhaps he might understand.  She took a breath to calm 
herself and continued, hoping she was doing the right thing.

  She moved a little closer and said quietly, "I want to, but I'm not sure, you know?  I 
don't-"  She looked up into his eyes, trying to ease the sting of her words.  "I don't want 
to make the same mistake I made last time."

  They sat in silence for a few moments, unsure if they should get closer or further apart.  
Essa thought back to how she'd felt the first time they'd been intimate, how beautiful it 
had been.  Her breathing slowed as she let that feeling take hold and spread.

  "It used to be special between us.  Remember?"  She pulled his hand to her lips and 
kissed his knuckle where there wasn't any clay.  She smelled his scent mixed with the 
earthy odor of his medium.  "You used to treat me like I was the only one in the world 
for you."

  Jaspar did indeed remember.  He leaned closer, until their whiskers were brushing 
against each other.  Tilting his head up, he nuzzled her ear.  "Essie," he whispered, his 
pet name for her, "will you melt for me?"

  Essa felt a tiny shiver dance along her ears.  Jaspar knew how to please a rabbit like her.  
He ran the pads of his fingers along the backs of her ears, from their roots to their tips.  
She groaned softly, and he smiled at her reaction.

  He was gentle.  He was patient.  He did everything he knew she loved.  It was as if he 
wanted to apologize for what had happened between them.

  Slowly, her doubts and fears began to subside.  The memories of their time together 
were clear in her mind, and she could see a difference in Jaspar now.  He was more 
willing to spend time pleasing her.  He spoke to her quietly, telling her how much he 
missed her.  When he moved his hand down to her thighs, she was glad.  Truth be told, 
she was grateful.

  Months of denial and of unwanted celibacy gave way to a quick melding of bodies.  
They could both tell they had reached the point of no return.  Thoughts were burned 
away; Essa could see the hot ashes of her fears dancing before her eyes.

  Essa wound up on her back, her short tail bunched up uncomfortably beneath her as 
Jaspar worked his way into her.  She held onto his shoulders and threw her head over the 
side of the couch, offering him encouragement he didn't need.  He had fallen into his 
pace, the rhythm that would carry him through as many climaxes as Essa could stand.

  Time evaporated between the many peaks Jaspar brought her.  She eventually lay back 
panting, sweaty and exhausted.  Every nerve in her body was dancing with sparks and she 
had trouble moving when Jaspar finally lay down next to her.

  They lay on the couch for a while, resting.  Jaspar nuzzled her ear and cheek now and 
again, but she was numb to it.  She heard his hoarse voice whisper a breathless, "Thank 
you" in her ear.  In her state, she unthinkingly muttered, "Love you, too."

  Essa was drifting into sleep when she felt Jaspar stiffen.  "Hold it," he said.  He raised 
himself up slightly, looking down at her body with an intense expression.  "Can you hold 
this pose?"

  "Laying here like an old towel?"  She smiled.  "Yeah, I think I can manage it."

  The raccoon gently disentangled himself from her and went back to his seat before the 
worktable.  He quickly wetted and reformed the clay.  He worked feverishly, inspiration 
having hit particularly hard.  She watched him a while, feeling drowsy again.

  "Don't let me sleep too long.  I have to get Roem before six."

  Jaspar grunted, "Six, got it," without looking up.

  "And Jaspar?"

  "Mm?"

  "Thank you."

  "Mm."

  She closed her eyes, knowing he was listening to the muse whispering in his ear.

**************************
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