<<At long last, my ``skunk story.`` The most obvious influence for this one comes from District 9, and it will be somewhat obvious at particular parts. I hope anyone reading this won't be turned off by the length. Enjoy.>>
My day started out just like any other. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it started out like every other. Actually, that isn’t entirely true. Every other day starts off with heavy eyes and false suicide wishes, in the advent of going to work.
I`m a factory worker, you see, or rather, I was a factory worker, working fulltime, five days a week for at least eight hours a day; quite often, it would be more than eight hours a day. My job was, to say the least, boring, tiring, and repetitive, just to name a few adjectives. Tedious is another good one. It was an auto-parts manufacturer, and my job, in essence, was to stand there and clean off the engine pieces for the next drone to clean a little bit further, and then after that I don’t care what happens to it. The parts could all drop into a big fiery pit where they get melted and remade into more engine parts for all I cared. But as terrible and soul-crushing as my job was, I had to admit, come payday, it was just slightly worth it. Just slightly, though. Ever so slightly.
Each reasonable paycheque managed to afford me with all sorts of luxuries, the most important being living on my own in the city. Granted, it wasn’t the best part of town, but it was cheap. Very cheap. But more than that, it was mine. Well, I suppose technically it belonged to my landlord, Ms. Tubbs, but who’s arguing? My tiny apartment, after all, did contain my bed, my couch, my television, my xbox, my kitchenware, and of course, my computer. As well as a host of my spiders, my cockroaches, my silverfish, my cracks in the wall, and my leaky faucet - though if an inspector ever came by, the latter five belonged entirely to Ms. Tubbs. I was paying for my own Internet, too, for that matter, not some gross, unhygienic dog with a ridiculous last name.
All in all, though, I loved my little one-bedroom apartment. I always kept it as clean as I could, and it could even be very cozy when I wanted it to be. Which was good since I didn’t tend to go out much, nor did I have many guests over. In fact, I spent a great deal of time on my computer (when I wasn’t working), and when nothing on there could hold my interest, it was over to the couch for countless hours of skull-crushing, bullet-shooting, zombie-killing action on the xbox. My simple life in the city was probably not everybody’s cup of tea - especially the complete lack of a real social life - but it worked for me and for the most part, I enjoyed it.
Anyway, the reason why my day started out not quite like every other, was because for a couple weeks every summer, the factory shuts down and we get something like an extra vacation. Unpaid, of course, but time off all the same. Having said that, I woke that morning still heavy-eyed, but full of zest and joy. And so far, a half mug of coffee.
I’d made quite a few online friends, and only a pawful of those I was truly close with. Unfortunately, the closest one to me lived in a city eight hours away, and with no car, or driver’s licence, it was particularly difficult to go see him. But ever-persistent, I endeavoured to find my way up north by any means necessary. This, of course, came in the form of a northbound Greyhound bus.
I’d never taken a Greyhound before, and I had to admit, the prospect made me a little nervous. I wasn’t really sure why, though, since it was just a bus ride, but my mind had a tendency to invent all sorts of amazing, unrealistic situations that explicitly abide by Murphy’s Law. I had the tickets, though, for a roundtrip, so there was no getting out of it now. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway? The bus blows up? A hijacker takes control and kills us all in a fiery explosion originating from a bomb strapped around his chest? No...that didn’t seem very realistic, did it?
After taking another small sip of my coffee, I sighed quietly and stared adoringly at the tickets sitting on the small, stained table I was currently leaning against. This table, as it happens, I got for free at the side of the road, outside someone’s house, on the way home from work one day; I was fortunate enough to be able to haul it home with me, since I didn’t have any friends with trucks. Or cars, for that matter. It was stained from years of previous use, but it fit in perfectly with the rest of my tiny kitchen.
I then took another sip, then rested my head on my left arm, which was spread across the table so my fingertips just barely touched the other end, rapt in thought. My thoughts began with working out a timeline for getting to the bus terminal on time, which was at least an hour’s walk from my apartment; probably longer this early in the morning, given my sleep-deprived motivation. So that meant I had to rely on local transportation... Did busses run that early? I glanced up at the clock, saw it was almost seven. I didn’t take the bus very often, especially not in the morning, and yet for some reason I thought they started running at around seven. So...by bus, it might take fifteen minutes tops to get there, and my Greyhound departs at quarter after eight... But they like you to get there earlier for boarding, though I do already have a ticket. After long deliberation, I figured I should probably catch the local bus at seven thirty. Seven forty-five at the latest.
And after figuring out how I was going to get to the bus terminal, my mind of course drifted to my friend up north. He was a feline, dark-furred like me; a panther, to be more specific. He and I were unable to determine our feelings for each other, especially since neither of us drove and distance was always an issue, but we were, at least, very fond of each other. This was going to be our first meeting, and I think I decided I didn’t want it to be our last. Either way, it was an exciting moment in my life; I rarely got these. It made me nervous imagining some of the things we would do together, and some of the things we may not, and I had to admit, I started to blush.
We’d shared pictures before, though, and he was a panther of impressive build. Unlike myself, I had a very slim build, and not particularly tall. In high school, I used to get teased to no end about how feminine I appeared, despite my occasional taste in clothing. I wouldn’t say I was a cross-dresser, though, and I still wouldn’t, even now. But sometimes I’d see a top I just love, and have to have it. My favourite shirt currently was of sweater-ish quality, with two-inch thick black and purple horizontal stripes all the way down. It was long-sleeved, somewhat baggy, but the opening at the top was very wide, accommodating my not-so-broad shoulders, which stuck out of it adorably. What do they call that? Off-shoulder tops? I was hardly a fashionista. Anyway, since it was a girl’s top, it didn’t quite reach the top of my pants; I didn’t mind showing off my navel sometimes, anyway. Especially since I had it pierced.
I had a few piercings, in fact. One in my bellybutton, as mentioned, but also a few rings in my right ear. Oh, and my tongue was pierced; probably my favourite. All of these piercings, bear in mind, I got back in my more flamboyant days, back in high school, though I was never really overtly flamboyant - no limp wrists or irritating lisp, or exaggerated movements or anything like that. But I think everybody, by the end, knew I was gay, and I didn’t really care. I still didn’t, really, though I didn’t go around advertising it to everyone I met like I used to. Unless I was wearing my favourite striped sweater, anyway. Which, as it turns out, I was probably going to be doing today; I’d sent plenty of pictures of myself in it - and out of it - to my panther friend, in some of my more erotic moments, so he wouldn’t be particularly surprised to see me wearing it.
Of course, these days I didn’t get out nearly as much as before, since most of my friends either moved farther away from the city, have outgrown me, or otherwise moved on with their lives. And of course working in a factory fulltime didn’t present many opportunities to get out, and with many older, tougher, more macho men than myself, I felt wearing some of my more feminine clothes would be against my best interest. And so at work, I primarily wore the same old uniform: black jeans with a black t-shirt, and of course work boots, also black. Went great with my black fur and white stripe.
Suddenly, a low-flying helicopter startled me out of my reverie, and I glanced over at the glass sliding door leading out to my modest balcony. The curtains were half-drawn, but after a couple more copters flew noisily overhead, I thought I would investigate. With a firm grip on my coffee mug, I got up.
Within a few steps, I was at the door and already sliding it open, feeling a nice, cool breeze suddenly blow through my fur, and I took in a deep, relaxing breath.
``Put some clothes on!`` some old man shouted at me, from the balcony to my right. I wasn’t so lucky to have gotten my own private balcony, but instead had to share it with at least ten other tenants along the eastern side of the building. Old Man Howler, as most people called the hound, was sitting in a torn lawn chair, pointing away from his door but turned slightly so he could easily see me step outside, and of course the sight offended him.
I was in my boxers at the moment, with a loose-fitting tank top that I was certain came from the girl’s section - I’d purchased it at the Thrift Store, and despite how it looked on me, I swear I nabbed it from the men’s section. Either way, it appeared something about seeing over two-thirds of my legs, my bushy tail, bare arms and probably some of my side-ribs (and possibly a bit of my side-chest and a nipple, too) offended the poor old dog.
``Good morning to you, too,`` I said, barely glancing over. Holding my coffee mug in both paws, I leaned on the railing and crossed one footpaw over the other, then sighed quietly. I just ignored the rest of Howler’s remarks, until he finally went inside. I sighed more happily now, a small, triumphant smile creeping onto my face. I could feel the slight wind lifting my top a little, blowing through the large arm holes and tickling my chest and belly. My boxers, however, weren’t particularly loose, and so blocked most of this lovely breeze; they weren’t tight, but still fit rather snug.
I didn’t normally dress so provocatively - if you could even call what I was wearing provocative - but every so often I liked to mix things up a little. It wasn’t that I was some sort of attention whore or anything, but I guess I would just get into these particular moods where normal, boring men’s clothes just didn’t interest me. And so I’d open the bottom drawer of my cheap, stubborn three-drawer dresser to where I kept my more interesting clothes. My purple-and-black-striped sweater was always on top, and I had to admit, I did have a few pairs of girl’s underwear, too... I generally don’t admit that too openly. But what can I say? I`m a sucker for cute clothes - in this case, one cute pink thong with small red stars and a tiny bow in front, as well as several different pairs of colourful, patterned bikinis.
But most days, if I`m not working and, for whatever reason, not staying at home - grocery shopping, for example - I would just wear typical men’s clothes, or at least, typical for any teenager. Though I’d graduated from high school several years ago, I still dressed like a kid, for the most part. I did own some nice men’s clothing, but unless someone dies or gets married, it’s never warranted. Anyway, my wardrobe probably consisted ninety percent of t-shirts, jeans and cargo pants, as well as some summertime clothes like shorts and tank tops, each article unique in their own way. I probably even owned a pair of hot pants, though it’d been a while since I last went out with those on. When it all came down to it, though, it didn’t matter what I wore in the end because frankly - and at the risk of sounding like an narcissistic jerk - I looked good in just about anything.
When there was finally another lull in the gentle, cool wind, I took another sip of my coffee - only a quarter full now - and sighed again, then looked up over the city’s skyline, into the dark, ominous silhouette of an enormous alien spacecraft, wondering what those helicopters had been in such a rush for.
It had been two years since these ships showed up, and still no one knew a thing about them, nor what to do with them. There was hardly any warning, either, when they suddenly appeared in our skies.
I can remember hearing reports on the news or reading it in the newspaper, that astronomers and scientists at NASA had discovered a group of odd, moving objects from deep in space, a whole cluster of them seeming to head straight toward Earth. They thought it was too odd to be an asteroid, or a comet or something, especially a whole group of them, and so a few months after the initial discovery, when the objects had moved shockingly closer, they suggested they were looking at some sort of alien technology. Satellites, they suggested, or some other sort of surveillance devices; none of them seemed Earth-made, especially since they all moved in perfect formation together as they blasted through the cosmos. A lot of the crazier theorists suggested they were weapons, come to destroy us, while others suggested they were merely exploratory spacecrafts; a friendly race, no doubt, just as curious to learn about us as we were of them. Bear in mind, they were going on the assumption these ships were actually headed here.
About a year after the initial discovery, though, the entire world was shocked to learn that for one, alien life does exist - a lot of religious people were pretty shaken, but a select group decided it would be their mission to spread the word of their lord to them - and two, they decided to park their twelve ships above major cities around the world, including mine. Scientists, of course, went insane with the excitement, and almost immediately set out to learn more. Unfortunately, though, none of these ships had landed, but instead hovered around a thousand metres above the ground, not moving, not making a sound, or showing any other sign of life. Despite that, though, scientists were yet to gain access to these gigantic ships, since either their hulls were too thick, they had some sort of shields up, or they simply didn’t know where to start drilling. So far, they hadn’t yet built a machine - like an x-ray or something - to peer inside, to at least get an idea for what was going on in there.
The ships, each one apparently equal in size, are about the size of Central Park in New York, that is if Central Park was completely round; to my annoyance, the ship above our city blocks the sunlight from my apartment building for approximately an hour every day. Although they were round and quite obviously technologically advanced - given how quickly they’d arrived from their incredible distance - the ships, much like my apartment, looked sort of ramshackle. A lot of people presumed they were damaged somehow, and were taking this time to fix the ships, though it would have to be some sort of automated system. Either way, all along its underside were multitudes of pipes, dishes of some kind, towers, tubes, pumps, and masts, as well as many other objects impossible to identify. If you asked me, I’d say it looked like some sort of gigantic, shadowed machine you’d find in a skyscraper’s mechanical room, or how I imagine the inside of a submarine would look. Either way, NASA said the ships were clearly far more advanced than they looked, though signs of intelligent life are yet to be discovered.
Having said that, no one has any idea what these aliens look like, and most scientists are skeptical they even exist onboard. Some still assume, given what looks like the large amount of monitoring devices protruding the undersides and sides of each ship, they’re just satellites of some kind, and that their enormous size are mainly for travelling purposes, as well as a house for all sorts of powerful transmitters we can barely begin to understand.
Needless to say, Earth’s relationship with these alien ships was a tenuous one. Whenever you go outside, or are anywhere within sight of these enormous ships - which is just about anywhere in the city, and even farther out of it, too - you can feel a particular tension in the air that you could cut with a knife. They have the entire planet feeling uneasy, paranoid, and afraid - more so than usual. Even after two years, tension was still high, especially when world leaders and so forth got together, since almost, if not more than, half of what they would discuss was what to do with the alien ships. Fortunately, no nation has yet had the balls to launch any sort of attack, since so far the aliens haven’t done anything. But it’s the popular opinion that they’re up there, just biding their time, which does nothing to ease Earth’s paranoia.
Myself, I wasn’t sure what to think. I’d heard dozens of theories and suggestions, each one sounding either as sound or unsound as the next. Frankly, I don’t have a problem with them being there, and they can even come down to visit if they really wanted, so long as they don’t hurt anyone. Because the moment they do, be it accidental or otherwise, I have no doubt in my mind Earth - probably the US - will immediately launch a ``counter attack.`` Still, if aliens did exist onboard, what were they waiting for? In my own, totally uneducated opinion, they were up there learning all about us, Earthlings as a whole, learning our history, our culture, our language, perhaps for the day that we do make first contact. Hopefully in my lifetime. I also hoped they wouldn’t be so offended by Earth’s violent, blood-stained history that they leave before saying hello.
Anyway, despite my hopeful opinion for the aliens’ visit, staring at their massive ship for too long still sent a certain chill down my spine. Having said that, I finished the last of my coffee and went back inside, shivering slightly as I whipped closed the thin, translucent stained curtains, the ship’s subtle silhouette still visible. In retrospect, I still hadn’t figured out what caused more than one low-flying helicopter to race toward the ship, and for some reason that made me nervous.
Nevertheless, I threw my mug into the sink and took three steps toward my bedroom, then only one more to get to my dresser. I placed my paws atop it, as if I was holding on during an earthquake, and just stared at all the junk strewn about the surface, which included several bottles of cologne, various types of makeup and polish I hadn’t opened since high school, some shampoo and other toiletries, and of course various bits of snacks and garbage I was too lazy to do something with. Really, though, I was contemplating what to wear. I had a bag already packed and ready to go, which left little choice... My black-and-purple top, of course, but what goes with that?
For now, I wrenched open the bottom drawer and pulled out my sweater, tossing it carelessly onto my bed, then kicked the drawer shut, with some amount of effort. I then opened the middle drawer, examining the few pairs of pants left inside. It was a choice between a plain pair of cargo pants I didn’t like anymore, an old, torn pair of jeans I wasn’t sure why I still had, or a baggy pair of camouflage ``BDU’s,`` as they’re apparently called, that I’d purchased a couple months ago; I think I’d only worn them once. With my mind made up, I grabbed the camos and tossed them beside my favourite sweater, slamming the drawer shut.
I was then quick to relieve my torso of my girly tank top, then slipped out of my dark-coloured boxers. Since my apartment had no air conditioning, there was an oscillating fan constantly running in my room, and it was nice to feel the fake wind blow through all of my fur. I turned around, fully nude, and stood close to the fan as it came back toward me, smiling quietly as its medium-powered beam of wind struck my midsection, spreading outward and cooling the rest of me off. But with the clock nearing twenty minutes after seven, I hadn’t a lot of time to enjoy such luxuries.
I spun around quickly on my heels and forced open the top dresser drawer (the easiest of the drawers to open), rummaging about for a fresh pair of underwear. Unfortunately I’d already packed most of it, and was left with a few scraps I would probably never wear again. In my desperation, thoughts of the bottom drawer flickered through my mind, and I had to admit, it was becoming more and more tempting with every passing second. I then closed the drawer partway and, after telling myself I was only going to look, I re-wrenched open the bottom drawer and peered in.
And like some sort of calling, atop an adorable blue tube top I’d found at the Thrift Store, was a pair of so-called booty shorts, black with a tribal-like red design covering it. I picked the panties up and examined them closer as the fan blew over my back. I hesitated, but looked at the clock just as it struck seven twenty-five - fortunately the bus stop was directly outside my building, and I had only to dress, grab my suitcase and my small laptop backpack, then bolt out the door. And so quickly I made up my mind, figuring I’d let myself regret it later when my balls are mashed too close together.
Carefully I poked both footpaws through the leg holes and slowly slid the small, revealing panties upward, thanking God for giving me such an adorable ass (if I do say so myself). Satisfied, having miraculously fit all nice and neatly inside the girl’s underwear, I turned toward my bed, admittedly checking myself out a little in the plain square mirror leaning against the wall before grabbing my pants. I then slipped into my pants a bit more rapidly, fumbling around with the belt until I finally let them rest upon my smooth, boyish hips, sagging slightly lower than my pants usually would. Finally I reached over and grabbed my top, slipping in quickly one arm at a time, then pulled the rest over my head. I pulled the top down a bit so the opening fit nicely around my shoulders and the sleeves ended right at my knuckles - a perfect fit as always. I then glanced into the mirror atop my dresser, behind all the junk, and flicked my fingertips through the fur on my head a few times, making no real changes, then looked at myself a bit more thoroughly before finally deciding I was ready to go.
I then grabbed my laptop bag and for now, slung it over one shoulder as I grabbed my medium-sized suitcase and exited my room. Suddenly, though, as I passed by the open window above the kitchen counter - which was right next to the sliding doors to my balcony - I heard that familiar, heart-pounding roar of the city bus’s engines, and I started to panic.
``Shit!`` I said aloud, though no one was around, and took off toward the door, making sure I nabbed my ticket off the table first; thankfully, my door had one of those locks that lock automatically when you leave. I then clumsily bashed open the door to the stairwell, having no patience for the elevator (if it was even operational), and rushed down the stairs, dropping my suitcase halfway down. I cursed again, my voice echoing loudly throughout the vertical chamber, and scrambled to retrieve the handle. After a second, though it felt like I’d just wasted several minutes, I took off once more down the stairs, nearly tripping at least twenty times before finally reaching ground level.
I then kicked open the door with impressive, adrenaline-fuelled strength and staggered aggravatingly toward the lobby, growling silently when I noticed an old couple stopped at the inner doors, the man fumbling around with his dozens of keys. What do old people need with so many keys, anyway? Determined, though, I carefully approached the door and pushed through, not wanting to be rude but clearly in a rush; they just stood aside politely and stared in shock of my outrageous attire. I was certain they would have a long discussion about ``youth these days`` during their morning tea, or mid-morning tea, or whatever crazy schedule old people were on.
But as fast and panicked as I was, I wasn’t quite swift enough to catch the bus, reaching the stop with just enough time to see it rush by and near the bend, its brake lights shining as if to tease me.
``For fuck’s sake!`` I shouted angrily as I tossed down my suitcase, drawing the attention of a group of high schoolers hanging around close by. I shot them a wicked glance and they went back to whatever they were doing. ``God damn it,`` I muttered harshly under my breath, frowning furiously at the tail end of the bus.
``Y’miss the bus, Mr. Cooper?`` a strange voice suddenly said from behind me.
A slight chill ran up my spine and I turned quickly. ``Well I`m not quite old enough to start yelling at teenagers,`` I replied.
It was the neighbourhood creep, a spectacled grey wolf who everyone affectionately referred to as Four-Eyed Harry, or just Four-Eyes. They called him that because he wore glasses, giving the appearance of two sets of eyes. Get it? Yes, it’s that old joke. Anyway, I had no idea if his actual name was Harry, or if it’s just one of those typical older-man names kids give to older men when they don’t know their names. Either way, I wasn’t about to risk it.
``No, I suppose not,`` chuckled Four-Eyes. I had to admit, his slight English accent did have a certain appeal to it, though it hardly made up for his odd remarks and stalker-ish manner. I never actually had proof or evidence, or had even observed stalker-like activities, but most people in my building - most younger people - as well as the local kids said they’ve all had spine-chilling run-ins with him; I suppose today, it was my turn. Though I think when you live in a single neighbourhood long enough, seeming to never age, and try to act as nice to young or attractive people as you can - even if not exclusively - you’re labelled as ``creepy.`` In fact, some kids probably called me creepy, too, even though I rarely dress like this anymore; today was a special occasion, after all.
``So what’s the problem?`` the grey wolf asked me, clasping his paws together except for both his forefingers, which he pointed at me with a flick of his wrists after asking his question. It didn’t seem to be what he said, so much as how he said it. It was hard to describe, but I suppose it was his unusual fascination in everything you say, and probably the odd and sudden upward inflections at the end of his sentences, or at key points in each phrase. He spoke very kindly, to the point where it seemed he wanted something out of you, or that he was trying to lure you in with a false sense of comfort or security.
I tried not to make a face at him. ``I missed the bus,`` obviously.
``Ah,`` he laughed, ``yes, of course. Perhaps...I could take you were you need to go?``
Suddenly that chill ran up my spine again. ``Uh,`` I started, going a little flush. To distract from that, I scratched the back of my head. ``It’s okay. I can just catch the next bus. I just would’ve preferred that one.``
``Well it’s no problem at all, Mr. Cooper. I was probably going to head that way, myself; there’s a delightful bistro that just opened up, that I really must try.``
I found it was a bigger strain not rolling my eyes when the person receiving the eye-rolling was standing right in front of you. ``Really,`` I sighed quietly. ``It’s fine.``
``Nonsense,`` barked the wolf, a smile upon his face. I couldn’t determine the origins of that smile, but he was being awfully persistent. And friendly. Probably why they called him a creep. ``It’s too expensive to ride the bus anywhere in the city these days, anyway,`` chuckled the grey wolf. He did make a good point.
``Well,`` I said, with obvious hesitation. But a single fur living on his own in the city was expensive enough as it is, and though it was only an extra three dollars, I suppose having as little money I did, I hardly had an excuse. Wait...what was I thinking? ``I guess that’d be okay,`` I said, regretting every word as they slipped from my maw. ``I have to get to the bus terminal by eight.``
``Well, come along, then; I keep my car in the garage here,`` Four-Eyes said, gesturing toward my building.
``You live in this apartment?`` I said, trying not to sound as surprised and unsettled as I was. Together we walked toward the garage, under the building.
``For almost thirty years,`` he told me, readjusting his large glasses with a paw. How old would that make him, then? ``Back in those days, this was a fine, respectable place; one of the nicest apartments in the city.`` He then opened the garage door and we slinked into the dark, oddly frightening atmosphere of the underground. ``But in the last five years or so, new owners really let it go to hell...`` He almost sounded sad over that; it was hard to believe this place could be anything but squalid.
``But,`` continued Four-Eyes with a smile, opening his door - he was one of those few people left who didn’t have automatic locks, ``I suppose that’s all in the past now.`` Then smiled oddly at me.
``Sort of like your glasses,`` I wanted to say, but I refrained. Instead I made one of those odd noises that suggest you agree with someone, then threw my laptop and suitcase in the back seat.
Finally we got into the car and after a bit of effort, he started the engine and we were off. The car smelled kind of funny, but not in a way I could effectively describe. Something like musk, mixed with cigarette smoke that had been mostly cleaned out with some powerful disinfectant; I was pretty sure Four-Eyes didn’t smoke, either. Maybe he did, back in the day when this car was the nicest in the city. But after getting permission to roll down the window, I did so with pleasure.
``So, you’re taking a trip?`` asked the grey wolf, pushing up his glasses. It was somewhat alarming to see him do this multiple times while driving.
``Yeah,`` I said nervously, not sure yet how I was going to defend myself if the time came. ``Up north, to visit a friend.``
``Must be a very special friend if you’re making that sort of a trip.``
I just shrugged, the top of my sweater sliding down my shoulders slightly. ``I guess so.`` It actually hadn’t occurred to me that it was a bit more effort than I would usually consider just to see a friend. But I think by this point, I was ready to admit I liked him more than ...
Kaoru-no-kimi