Unrenaissance ii

She has your balls in her paw. You smile at one another knowingly as she fondles them, as your cock emerges from your sheath and arches, rigid, into the night. All around you, the sounds of song and laughter, storytelling and lovemaking. Some eyes are on you as your turn comes, and you’re proud… excited. You can’t believe you’re unashamed. Someone nudges his friend and points, chuckling, and they watch.

At first licked only by the firelight, your cock now glistens with her spit as she dips her head to tongue it. Tails wag as your admiring audience take in the show. You don’t know her name… or at least, you don’t remember it… but it hardly matters here. She’s a villager. You, though newly-minted, are a villager too.

You’re in her mouth, moaning softly as you work your paws though her long, unfettered mane. Her head bobs slowly, keeping time with a folksong being sung at a neighbouring fireside. You know you’re going to love that song all your life; whenever you hear it, you’ll be right back here… The naked, white-pelted bodies appearing and disappearing in the smoky dust of late autumn, balls and boobs and bottoms. Dancing, walking, running, sitting, wrestling, fucking. You reach around, your paw straying under her tail, which she lifts. Your fingers dive into her cunt, finding her welcome deep, warm, wet, overflowing with readiness. You shift, and she immediately understands and lifts her head; standing, you take her hips, and put your cock in her. A few more people pause to look on. Cocks stiffen, eyebrows arch over smiles. They all agree, you’ve adapted quickly, and well. One of your admirers can’t contain himself anymore and he rises, leaving his friend’s side to step up in front of the girl you’re fucking and take your place in her mouth. You smile and chuckle at one another over her back as she pleasures you both. Your city life is far behind you, seeming like a bad dream from which you’ve awoken at last.

A Walk In the Snow

He steps out from between the towering pines, hung heavy with wet snow. His mane is ragged, his poncho time-worn and full of stories. The wind lifts it, revealing his gun belt; all he wears beneath it. He has come armed. You would have been amazed if he had not.

The scent of his females creeps to you in a shift of the wind; the clan he has sired and shepherds is nearby. He’s at the end of his rope. This is the only reason you see him at all. His eyes are like steel, fixed on you from across the hollow. Even your horse fidgets, unnerved.

“You came alone?” he calls at last. Under the brim of your cap, you nod. Once. Sharply. You meet his gaze. You have to.

Your uniform. It still seems warm from being pressed this morning before you set out. Blood red. Commanding attention. Unmistakable in its arrogance; daring any foe to take a shot and bring millions more just like you down upon him. A single red dot in a spreading sea of changing ways, washing over the prairies.

His poncho flaps in the wind. His tail, his mane, are his only flags; the living standards of his people, pressed to the river, mournful at the prospect of crossing over, leaving all this behind, forever. But that’s why you’re here.

“You knew Greyshadow?” he calls.

Carefully, slowly, you reach into your pouch. You draw out the talisman given you long ago in a moment of peace and friendship and celebration. It’s barely visible, but in the eyes of this man, something softens… glistens.

“You did know him,” the man says.

“Yes. He called me friend. Though I knew his daughter much better.”

“And that is why you’ll help us?” His voice is cold and flat, but behind it you hear both hope and incredulity.

“I will help you,” you say, “because it is right.”

“How can we trust you?”

“I’ll be one, among many. The moment you doubt me, you’ll kill me. I’m resigned to die. I will either die at your hands, or the hands of the men I’ve just left. Which, is up to you.”

He nods. “You speak well.” He steps towards the trees. “Come. But if you would be among us,” he says, “then you must free our brother.” He means your horse. His kind do not keep horses, and kill only what they need.

You dismount, stepping down into the cold snow. You move your paws over Commander’s neck; he whickers and nuzzles into your palm. He’s a clever beast; he will make his own way back to the fort. “Good-bye, old friend,” you mutter to him, the wind kicking off your cap and sending it tumbling stupidly across the field. “Take care of yourself.” Now your mane and your tail are flags. Your only flags. You pace through the deep, wet snow towards the wild man, and whatever awaits you.

The uniform itches. It has itched for a long time.

Today is the day it comes off.

It Really Is Like This

The President brooded darkly in the Oval Office. Clearly, his erectile dysfunction was going to cost some country dearly. But which one? Needing sage counsel, he summoned the Secretary of Handing Out Billions of Tax Dollars to Defense Contractors to his office. "Who can we blast?" he snarled.

"How about England? They're getting pretty smug about being in tight with us. Maybe it's time for a smackdown in ol' Londontown?" grinned the Secretary.

"Yeah! I like it! It works for me!" squealed the President.

"That's not what I hear," snickered the Secretary.

Luckily, the President didn't get it. "So what's our cover story?"

The Secretary stroked his chin. "That's going to be hard one," he said... then started giggling again.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing, sorry..."

The President had an idea, and beamed with pride. "Listen to this: we found out the British have been hiding Hitler since the end of World War II! Huh? Huh? What do you think?"

"Um, well, sir..."

"You don't like it."

"It kind of sucks."

"Yeah. I thought it would."

"Don't feel bad, it was a good try."

"No, I suck at this, everyone's always smarter than me, and better, and funnier, and... and smarter, and—"

"Well, look, sir, we could just do what we usually do..."

"What's that?"

"Bomb the shit out of 'em and come up with a reason afterwards. Besides, there's a lot less arguing that way."

"I like how you think. Keep it up, and you'll have my job someday."

"If you could keep it up, we'd all be out of a job," murmured the Secretary.

The President reached for the phone. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing, Mr. President. Now dial M for murder."

Brackets

Steel-glass bauble
__timeless, set
__the moment suspended

__tiny gem waiting
__the jeweller's strike
__in wonder:
__will the flaw give character
__make it unique
__or make dust of
____what might have been?

Rain slams down like time

__dry inside
__timeless, set
__in fading light
Take me back
__ready to be unready
__waiting for the clock to tick

10:43½ a.m. — Café Orlando

There’s a clock on the wall. I look up from my coffee for a moment and watch the second hand beating against the 22nd tick mark over and over again, like a wave throwing itself fruitlessly against a rocky coast it can never overwhelm. It’s just like that moment when a clock’s battery is so worn down it can’t advance the second hand anymore, but it still has enough juice to keep trying for a while. Except it’s like this for all clocks. Everywhere.

I can’t tell you how long it’s been like this. Obviously. How could I? My own watch demands that it’s 10:43 in the morning, August 18th, and has steadfastly done so for quite some time, despite the fact that I’ve slept soundly three times since I started noticing that nothing was changing. So I guess it’s been three days now. Maybe four.

I’m really losing hope.

I drain the coffee cup. I put it down. The guy behind the counter, whose name, unfortunately for him, is Gayle, pours me another cup. I stand up. Turn my back. Step over to the window. The blue Datsun blows past the café window, left to right. I turn away for a moment. I look back outside. The same blue Datsun blows past the window outside, left to right.

I flick the door open, but don’t step out. I move as though I were entering. I head toward my open seat. My coffee cup is gone; so is the greasy plate of bacon and eggs I’d not quite finished. As I sit, Gayle plunks down a clean white cup before me and pours me a cup of coffee. “What’ll it be, mister?” he says.

“Bacon and eggs,” I say. It’ll be my third plate today, maybe my tenth since this all started, and I haven’t paid for one of them yet. As far as Gayle’s concerned, he’s never seen me before in his life. It’s quarter to eleven in the morning for him, and I’ve just walked into his restaurant for the first time. “Sunny side up, please.”

“Sure thing.”

“So what’s there to do around here?” I ask him. This is one of the rules. No one notices the passage of time, but it will pass for them if only I keep them engaged. If I turn my back, they’ll just keep doing whatever it was they were doing, in short little loops of a few seconds, forever. Or at least till this spell or whatever it is is broken.

“You new to town?” He breaks a couple of eggs. The bacon hisses on the skillet. To my right, a man named Chester turns the paper to page A9. Again.

“Yeah, I just got in last night,” I say. Chronologically, this is true. At least for all of them.

“There’s a railroad museum down the east end by the tracks,” he says. “A good place to kill a couple hours if you like that kind of thing. A lot of people come through for that,” he says. Of course, I already know this. He’s informed me a half a dozen times. I have to keep him busy or the meal will never get finished.

Chester turns to page A9. A woman whose name I haven’t learned yet stirs her 90th spoonful of sugar into her coffee and sips it. Talk about your bottomless cup. She sets it down with that same, perfect lipstick mark on it. If I look away, it’ll be gone.

I gaze at the phone. I’ve tried. Janice doesn’t answer. She never will. She’s in traffic somewhere, hundreds of miles and two time zones away, on her way to work. The phone could ring for a thousand years for me, but she’ll never arrive to answer it. I ache inside, thinking I might never see her again; she is trapped forever in a car traveling 120 km/h and she doesn’t even know it.

“How those eggs coming?” I ask Gayle.

“Pardon me? Oh, I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t see you…” Shit. I look past him; the eggs are gone, the bacon still raw on the sideboard. Gayle plunks down a clean white cup before me and pours me a cup of coffee. “What’ll it be, mister?” he says.

God tech America

Out of my ass I pulled
     the starship Enterprise
to spare the human race
the fear
of having to decide
what god to pray to before breakfast
what shoes to wear after
and what to eat during