As it's been a little while since I posted (this was a long and complex chapter to write!) here is a reminder of a few of the terms this planet's nongendered indigenous species use: Fne = Equivalent of he/she Fnir = (Pronounced fneer) equivalent of his/her Fneself = Equivalent of him/herself Ok, let's go... ~ Cap leaned casually, one arm against the barn door as he gazed silently in at the sheriff. Practiced poser that he was, he knew the effect would be an aesthetically pleasing sillhouette, and that his current quietness would seem mysterious and alluring to the enthusiastic official. ~~ The sheriff reclined on a pile of rectangular wormhay bales, studying the strange captain via a desirious squint, fnir keen eyes tracing the countours of this outlandish man. He appeared somehow slender yet solid, and currently cut a clean outline against the fresh night sky. Man. Even after hours of using it the ancient term was still so exotic, and exciting. A shiver wracked the sheriff's body, and fne swallowed to lubricate a throat which had abruptly become as parched as the sawdust-strewn floor of the aptly named town carpenter Sawny Cottonmouth. Fne shook the image off and continued casting fnir eyes over the goods. There would be plenty of time to think about boring woodworkers later, right now it was time to concentrate on the treat the star-strewn heavens had, for some glorious reason, decided to bestow upon fnir. A smile curled the edges of the sheriff's mouth. ~~~ On the receiving end of the smile, Cap thought how attractive the sheriff was. Moonlight was streaming into the barn, softly lighting fnir hair and the edges of fnir face as if the highlights had been applied by airbrush. The smile made those kind blue eyes sparkle with nerves and mischief. He wondered how old fne was. Did people on this planet even mark birthdays, or time, in the same way? Though a little shy, fne didn't seem like a super young adult but somehow did seem kinda young to be a sheriff. He reckoned that, using Eryth Standard, fne was probably around forty three years old. And hot as the twelfth Hell of Druakihn (a real place; a star with no sentient life for lightyears around other than a singular remote research station which orbited the star's nearest planet. He'd delivered there a couple of times and found the name a little ominous - but that was outpost scientists for you, always coming up with strange notions to pass the time. The ones on the station had always treated him like a second class citizen when he'd rocked up with supplies, like some kind of dirty underling. They may have been studying a sun, but Cap had found them cold as ice. Still, he'd been paid a lot for traveling to the isolated system, and he'd certainly managed to thaw out the frosty underwear of the busty hydroponics student who was in charge of the station's arboretum (the Botanical Beauty as he thought of her) - so it hadn't all been bad. He looked the sheriff up and down, taking in the denim pants, the checked shirt (or blouse, or whatever it was), the nice boots he wouldn't have minded for himself, and the wide brimmed hat. Though bumbling, the sheriff actually cut an elegant figure. Cap eyed fnir like a hungry man checking out a burrito. He couldn't wait to unwrap his meal and find out what was inside. ~~~~ The sheriff was observing him right back, and considering the similarities between the species in a distant ponder. Features obscured by the relative darkness of the barn, lit gently by moonglow, the Outsider could almost pass as one of the planet's indigenous inhabitants. His shoulders were a little wider, hips a little narrower perhaps, and he was a smidge taller than the average native. Not only this, it was interesting to note that he lacked a little delicacy that they possessed - there was a some grace missing, just a smidge, but noticable to fnir. He was also lacking the slight curvaceousness of the locals, appearing more angular, somehow. In the sheriff's opinion he had a heroic gunslinger physique, not like Winnie, but like those fne'd seen in old comics (one of fnir guilty pleasures). It was like having someone out of history, out of epic tales and adventures, right here in person. Fne thought further back still, to the stories of ancient hominids one of the rare travelers to this town had told the locals about during a brief stay. What were they called again, those ancient humanoids? Knee-Andy-Tools and Homos-Erections, something like that. Fne thought this one was a Homers-Apeyans, one of those kind of things anyway. The sheriff had often pondered the true history of humanoid evolution. Nobody seemed to actually know the full story, well, not on this planet anyway. When you spend most of your time having to avoid giant desert predators, engineering farming machinery, and rearing livestock in near barren conditions just trying to eek out a scrubby existence, it leaves little time to worry about the origins of species. But, a person apart since fne could remember, the sheriff always found time to dream. ~~ Cap - never one to shy away from new adventures (particularly sexual ones) - noticed the sheriff's brow crinkling in thought, and ceased his purposeful posing against the barn door. He sauntered over as casually as a guy could with his arm and leg in casts, and a stiffy resembling the somewhat paradoxically named Trifle Tower (in reality a huge natural uber-hard diamondine structure, designated so for the city near which it rose majestically, and not its rigidity. Or lack thereupon). He drew close to the sheriff, who was sitting alluringly yet a little awkwardly, and was smiling up at him all striking blue eyes through long, dry, blond bangs which in Cap's opinion coulda used a little conditioner, but were lovely nonetheless. It was an appealing image and he chuckled quietly. Taking up fnir hand from its aimless flop into his good one, he gave it a kiss. The hand was elegant, soft, and paler than his. The fingers long and fairly feminine, yet also a tad square and sinewy. Any variations on the theme of 'male' or 'female' were extremely subtle. Compared to his hands, he considered, they appeared a little feminine, but compared to Yus's they would have looked somewhat masculine, while at the same time appearing somehow both and neither - it was a curious, and not unpleasant, phenomenon. He shrugged internally, deciding he didn't really care what gender the hands appeared, either way they smelled good, and Cap sure appreciated pleasant odours. He inhaled the goodness, and softly, carefully, placed his mouth again, turning the curious hand over to kiss the inner wrist, expertly brushing his lips over the smooth, sensitive skin of the sheriff's veins. He felt his whiskers catch a little and wished he'd had chance to shave. He doubted there were any razors or buzzers available though - these folk did not seem to shave or have the need. Some of them actually seemed to relish excessive hair in those areas they could grow it, take Qaro's long matted locks for example. And Winsturdle's plentiful armpit fur, which Cap'd noticed poking out of a brown ratty waistcoat on removal of that long battered overcoat in the bar. Ah well, he'd just have to be careful not to spike his inquisitive partner. He proceeded with a little more care. Dimly aware that he was being uncharacteristically worryish, he reminded himself that it was with good reason. Eesh. The bubbling flow of his lusty mind stream hit an unwelcome jutting rock, resulting in a foamy insta-memory jolt from some years previously. A time when - cockily strutting his stuff, thinking himself most sexy and modelesque in his (stolen) designer gear - he'd swept one of his sweethearts of the time off on a perfectly planned date. Despite his generally chaotic approach to everything else in life back then he had managed to plan it down to the finest detail. Things had been going perfectly. It was time to smoothly move in for a kiss and blow his partner's mind with an expert performance of the Tongue Tango, when instead of becoming entranced by his oral expertise the girl had shoved him away, complaining that his stubble had spiked painfully on the underside of her sensitive nostrils. To add insult to injury, she was now... those awful, terrible words no horny stag wants to hear... Not In The Mood. Well, that had taken Mr Showoff down a peg or two. He'd been flabbergasted, humiliated. And not in the fun way. He'd muttered his excuses and left with both ego and penis deflated. It wasn't the only stubble-related incident either. He'd also dated a rather high-maintenance and bad tempered girl named Jessth on and off for around six months. She tended to come out in a terrible rash if he dared forget to shave, and would get as mad with him as if he'd sprouted sharp little pieces of hair from his face maliciously just to spite-spike her. Admittedly he didn't mind the shovings, slappings, and inevitable make-up sex when she realized how cruel she'd been, but what he did mind was the suggestion that he was anything other than an excellent lover. Cap knew what he wasn't good at, and he knew what he was. If lovemaking was something you listed on your resume, it would likely be at the top of his. Ask him to calculate a formula without the aid of his cybernetics, or write for more than three minutes without having to access his spelling application and internal dictionary databanks and he'd be lost, ask him to pleasure a woman for an evening however... Poor ole Tag had put a brave face and positive spin on the school reports he'd brought home as a kid (unlike Muryal who would have, literally, kicked his ass if he wasn't such a nippy mover) but Cap knew he'd never be smart, not in the school-sense, anyhow. To get him through life and fake those kinds of smarts to keep up with his peers he'd relied on machines, a lot. Which, he reflected with a grim inner grin, was sort of ironic, as now he was one. Partly, at least. "You're kind," Tag had told him frequently, "'n'that's worth more than a thousand qualifications". Cap often recalled one particular such moment, sitting on the stairs, hearing distant sounds as the rest of the kids played in the other room, while dear Tag, his smile-crinkled eyes and bristly white tache gleaming, had taken him aside to comfort him in his post-report frustration. On this particular day there seemed to be an added emphasis to Tag's words but Cap reckoned that, to this day, he'd still never fully understood what Tag was getting at. He wished he could ask him. Anyway, the cringeworthy stubble related incidents had encouraged Cap to try and keep clean shaven as often as possible. After all, he reasoned, you never knew when there'd be the opportunity for a saucy snogfest. Besides, these days there were implants and scarred places on his face where the hair wouldn't grow, anyway, so too much beard growth and he looked weird. Weirder. The frequent shave rule had served him well over the years. He normally only let his stubble grow out past the spiky stage and into a softer, longer, itchy straggle, when he knew he wouldn't be making any love for a while. So he was clean shaven most of the time. He winced at the memories, but only inwardly, and only in a tiny, tiny, miniscule compartment labelled 'shame', which was dwarfed by other much larger metaphorical boxes which sported such labels as 'pride', 'vanity', 'libido' and 'fun'. Outside he was all sizzling, savvy, business, for this was his territory, his joy, his practiced art. His internal self-celebration was enough to distract him from the memories. For a moment, outer-body style, he mentally looked down on the scene - he and the sheriff, their gentle exploration, the calm before the storm. He egoistically thought himself akin to all the famous romantic leading men: Fromeo, Slothario, Startrick Pwayzle... His lip twitched into a reflexive self-smile... He was Casa-freakin'-SuperNova. Back on the Leviathan Jim would almost facepalm himself into a migraine when Cap joyfully showed off about his exploits. Thing was though, much to Jim's irritation (and affectionate amusement), Cap wasn't exaggerating Perhaps taking a subliminal remembered scolding from Jim, he now tugged the reins of his runaway vanity, and concentrated on lovin' the sheriff instead of himself. Fne was running a couple of those long fingers along his jaw and didn't seem to mind the stubble. Thank fluk, thought Cap, that he'd managed to get a wash at least. (Admittedly the wash had consisted of Winsturdle looking disgustedly away whilst tipping a barrel of cold water over him as he shrieked his outraged objection, but still, it was something.) Cap loved to be clean almost as much as he loved to get down and dirty. 'A fresh smell is a fresh mind' dear ole Tag had always said, and it had stuck. Cap might sometimes look scruffy, and might tend to show up at important events as drunk as a whiskey dipper's junk, but his personal hygiene was impeccable, and he always smelled clean. Even now the scent of a certain brand of budget soap sent Cap hurtling again to his childhood and sweet, gentlemanly, Tag, the rancher, his much adored father figure who'd never changed even one tiny bit in all the time Cap knew him. ~~~ Surprising fneself, the sheriff realized fne was trembling at the man's contact. Oh goodness, the antique was only kissi-- Oops, referring to him as an 'antique', even mentally, was a bit rude, um, okay the 'old timey alien', then? ... Alien!!? That was probably ruder, pondered the sheriff, though fne did have to surpress a giggle. Cap it is. Cap was only kissing the inside of fnir wrist for goodness' sake, how could it feel like this? Preposterous! Uhhh! The internal monologue and related thought-functions ceased entirely for a moment, cushioned between beautifully billowing walls of pleasure which seemed both physical and mental, before they returned with a whimpered question... H-how exactly did he do that? He'd reached fnir shoulder now, his soft warm lips kissing tenderly and far more affectionately than the sheriff's previous partners. So, despite traditional teachings stating otherwise, being male didn't necessarily mean being all coarse and crass then... The tenderness was oddly juxtaposed against the man's bristles which occasionally caught and lightly brushed fnir lightly in sensitive places. Fne stroked the face fur and felt an odd pang of affection for the man as fne did so. Never before in all fnir years had the sheriff felt a bristly kiss, the gendered people fne'd met previously had just been passing traders, long ago. In fact they had all been disappointingly smelly and entirely lacking in sexiness. Even compared to Winsturdle. There had been no romance. Hm, 'romance?' Is that what this was? It was certainly something. Oh good Lordy Drawdammers! He'd reached fnir neck. Mmrf. ~~~ Face nestled into the sheriff's neck Cap inhaled deeply. The scent was like a freshly laundered sheet which'd been hung out to dry in the spring breeze, a little zesty, and, somehow without even a hint of the grubbiness this place suggested. He approved. Though the same species as his intriguing new partner, he doubted that Winsturdle would smell as good, and grinned into the sheriff's neck at the thought. That smile dropped, of course, as the summoned image of the tooth-pickin', loogie-hockin' Winny floated scowlingly through his brain. Eww ew ew go away. Fortunately the wolf of his libido - almost untameable at the best of times, let alone after days of imprisonment - padded back over to thoughts of the sheriff's refinement. The sheriff was like an oasis of elegance amid this desert of roughneckery. Cap felt himself becoming more aroused and his mind attempted to stop thinking, to let his body operate on autopilot. He didn't allow it - this lovemaking had to be measured and tactical, not animal. "Mmm" he muttered into fnir fragrant neck, simultaneously placing one of fnir hands on his hip. From the contact he could physically sense the sheriff's excitement, and nerves. He searched fnir slightly downcast face face to check all was good. and found that the sheriff was examining his body like he was a fine steak. He pulled fnir a little closer to him. "What's your name anyway?" he muttered "I can't just keep callin' you 'Sheriff'..." "I'll tell you" the sheriff managed to breathe "my name... If you tell me yours... I can't just keep referring to you-ooh, as 'Cap'.." ~~~ The man paused a moment, seemed to consider this, and instead of supplying his name simply mumbled "Fair enough" and began quietly kissing again. The sheriff frowned in a nanosecond of consternation, but then the man's face was in front of fnirs and in that moment the frown lifted as if sunshine had chased away the rain. Fnir eyes were instantly drawn to the lips which had been doing so much splendid kissing thus far, mmm. Fnir appreciative eyes skimmed along their loveliness to the outer edge... which... part of that criss cross scar sliced through. Oh no... Oh eugh no. In the earlier good spirits of the bar, and the current erotic exotic excitement, fne'd somehow sort of forgotten about... all of that. The captain's friendly, perky, personality had put thoughts of his facial features on the back burner. But now here they were, staring fnir right in the face like the badly arranged visage of a stitched together raggedy crawscare. Oh come on, fne told fneself, you're an adult. Don't be such a wimp. And , more to the point, don't be so rude! Poor man, that's his face. Fne braved a full-on look at the vision before fnir, and took in the hard metallic looking parts as well as the ugly scars... That must have been uncomfortable for him, surely? And then there was the confusing asymmetry. That lopsided leer... Was it sexual, or injury-induced? Trying hard not to be offensive, fne microsquirmed and recoiled a little, suddenly wanting to move away but trying to hide the feelings of repulsion at the face. Fne definitely did not want to hurt the feelings of this nice person and wrestled valiantly to stay in place. But to no avail. Fnir body squirmed. And he noticed. He tilted his head, not clocking the problem. "What is it? Too handsome?" He joked with a wonky grin, eye crinkling at the edge, seeming right then to be as friendly and sweet as a pet marbenpup. Fne felt like a shit. The male-creature's innocence in the question - the fact he honestly didn't seem to realise that his appearance may be offputting - made him seem vulnerable somehow. He'd been masterful, in control till then, but now through this momentary window of naiveté he reminded the sheriff of a sweet youngster. Unlike most of the folk in this roughneck town, the sheriff was highly empathetic, and fnir heart ached for him a little. Fne could suddenly see the child in him, imagined him injury-free, and it was painful to imagine that sweet child going through whatever it was he must have gone through, to become this Robo-Thing. Fne suddenly wondered how much else of him was robotic, and recoiled a little further. As Qaro had correctly informed the Outsiders, despite their simplistic lifestyle the folk in the town of Edge were adept at assembling and repairing machinery and even, when the occasion arose, cybernetics, but never were they ever on display like this man's parts, and were only fashioned for internal or prosthetic use - new knees and such. So to the sheriff it appeared that this man had part of the insides of his face showing on the outside. That exposed eye... Oh gods. The sheriff was momentarily overcome by a squeamish nausea. Common decency, and a mental echo of that warm, deep, innocent question nudged fnir into replying. Too handsome? "Uhm, no, it's not exactly that..." The sheriff suddenly wondered if all this was such a good idea after all and wriggled away from the man and his delicious kisses completely, shuffling back over the hay bales, moving away from both his warm, firm, inviting body, and his weirdness which was unsettling fnir so. The sheriff's soul pulsed with an odd sensation of baffled dissonance. The man gently released his embrace, allowing fnir to move away, but his till now semi-permanent grin flickered, faltered. The merry, functional eye uncrinkled. ~~~ Now, Cap was used to some people finding his appearance odd, (not to mention, of course, his own secret self-torturous thoughts when the breeze of his mind blew that way). Cyborgs were known of within the general population, and not especially uncommon throughout the galaxy, but it was true to say that they were more well-known on the outer planets. This meant that when frequenting the more populated and higher classed Inner Worlds Cap was sometimes a bit of a novelty and did get his fair share of odd looks and rude comments. 'Course, he gave as good as he got, (better, even), but that wasn't really the point. Romantic partners however tended not to care, or to not particularly notice his differences. Some even got with him because of his injuries and cybernetics (mainly those with disability fetishes or robo-kinks). Most just saw him as a normal guy, or he managed to charm them either way. The one thing he wasn't used to in a romantic scenario, was a recoiling partner. It wasn't particularly ego-boosting. It was lucky then, that the Captain's ego was comparable in size to the galaxy. One little planetoid of shame shouldn't dent it too much. Nevertheless, Captain Cucumber temporarily downsized to Private Pickle. He adjusted himself and cleared his throat as if the noise could somehow cover up the flicker of embarrassment. Maybe it... (A horribly golden jolt of shame passed through his stomach threatening to increase the size of the shame file, and flicked at his spine.) ... Maybe it wasn't The Obvious... He cast his mind back a half hour, to the moment he'd managed to grab his first glance in a mirror for days. His reflection hadn't been the bouncy, shiny, chiselled, gleaming grinmeister he was used to. He'd lost a little weight and had the air of a ragamuffin. His cheeks were drawn a touch inward and his normally superb cheekbones had been a bit pokey, heading a gnat's wanger towards the overly angular. His normally glossy bouncy hair was a ruffled scruff of unkempt brown, dipped on the ends with purple from the pool. A glance at his cast-free arm and he reckoned he was even losing muscle already. And his face was shaded and spiky. The desert sun and lack of sun protection had even summoned a few freckles out to play. "If I get wrinkles..." He'd grumbled aloud for the benefit of his reflection, Winnie, and anyone else who might be listening. "I swear..." One glance at Winsturdle's scowling line-ridden face (which apparently had never experienced the protective sheen of sunscreen in its leathery life) had shut him up. He'd felt a sharp sadness at an abrupt memory of The Leviathan. This time the pain was not for Jim and the lost souls, but for the ship itself. For his almost daily gym visits to the compressed air resistance training machines, for the Everfresh shower-toilets, the games suites, the huge sprawling refectory, and ahh, just all the wonderful and efficient facilities onboard which - despite his blasé attitude and appearances to the contrary - Cap had in fact never, ever, taken for granted, and had thanked his lucky stars for every single day he'd commanded it. While he protested when people incorrectly referred to the company-owned vessel as his ship, he had in fact privately started to think of the ole girl as belonging to him, and had become very fond of her indeed. He missed her with a sharp moment of sickness, then kicked the spasm away like an unwanted spocker ball, concentrating again on his scruffy reflection. His cyb eye was completely nonfunctional, dull and lifeless, which was kinda upsetting, like half of his face was dead or something. Qaro was right: He was a broken toy. He wasn't sure if his current appearance made him look older or younger than usual, but either way he didn't look quite right. Despite all this, he was, in his opinion, still pretty hot. The 'wash' he'd been given had made this shambling mess appear mildly less like a rabid hodgeheg, but he knew he was still rough as hell. So perhaps it wasn't his... differences causing the sudden cooldown... but the fact he was a mess right now. He cleared his throat again, this time to prep a question. "Do you... Uh. D'you think I'm ugly?" he asked bluntly, still surfing the horrible golden remnants of the shame-wave, and surprising not only the sheriff but himself with the question. ~~ "Oh!" the sheriff exclaimed in response, taken aback at the earnest enquiry. "I um..." Gosh... Fne didn't want to insult the man, but he wasn't exactly what the sheriff would deem as pretty. Out of empathy, wanting to comfort him, fne moved a little way back towards him, concentrating on the contour of his pectoral muscles through his raggy shirt, instead of his face. He sweetly brushed a strand of hair behind fnir ear and for some reason it made fnir blush. His face might have been a mish-mash-mess, but his body was hot as the desert that surrounded them. This was all very confusing. Entranced, fne put a hand on one of the pecs. It was so firm, and so well-shaped. Sculpted. Oh my gods... "Mmm?" prompted the puzzled one. "Well, ah, that is," stammered the sheriff " I find you somewhat unusual to look at..." At that, Cap's mood seemed to change instantly, as if something had clicked inside, and he now abruptly moved back a little himself. For a moment, from the look in his eye the sheriff thought he was going to withdraw his affectionate advances altogether. This (along with the hot pec), with a warm rush of sudden clarity caused the sheriff to realise for certain that fne definitely did not want things to stop. Unfortunately however the poor antique alien crawscare was now looking genuinely hurt. "Unusual..." Unusual. Unusual. Un-Usual. The word hung in the air, potentially connotating many things - most of them rather unflattering. The sheriff scolded fnirself and asked the question Winsturdle had hinted at many times. Why are my interpersonal skills so lacking!? But instead of withdrawing completely the man now seemed to rally himself without hardly missing a beat. He gently moved fnir hand to those lips which had thus far so pleasured, and so disconcerted. The action seemed warmhearted, kind, non-sexual in intent. Merely a comfort. He carefully guided fnir fingertips along the lips, allowing them to trace their natural plumpness then slide into the deflated groove of the scar. This is just part of me, the gesture seemed to say, there's nothing to worry about. He didn't stop there, he directed the entranced digits right up the main scar which lead to, and through, his odd mechanical eye. It was as if he'd decided that since they they were going to get intimate, he may as well share this too. The sheriff's heart was beating harder than Pollyarni's winning strike at last year's Punch n' Paunch contest at the town fair. Fne was baffled as to why, but the man's strangeness was simultaneously frightening and exciting. Crunchy guitar licks throbbed and floated over from the nearby saloon. Far from an interruption, the music seemed to soothe, and add to the gritty sexiness of the encounter. The man removed the sheriff's hat, tossing it carelessly aside, and fne shook fnir long blond locks out. 🎵 ... Love... is forever... as I lie awake beside you... 🎵 The sheriff looked into the man's working eye. Was it youthful, or wise? Fne wasn't sure. I believed, there's no Heaven... no hideaway for the lonely.... 🎵 Hard to tell what that eye had seen. But I was wrong, crazy... ...It's gotta be strong, it's gotta be right whhaoooo. 🎵 Fne gasped as the man ran his hands down fnir sides and over fnir hips, turning his hands, letting upside-down fingertips trace fnir upper thighs. Operating on a kind of joyful instinct, fne leaned forward and kissed his collarbones through his torn shirt. Only wanted to stay awhile, only wanted to play awhile (whooah), then you taught me to fly like a bird... whoaaa whoooa... He slipped the ragged garment off and the sheriff saw a sizeable dressing on his ribs - no wonder the poor thing had winced earlier when Burly McGraff had slapped him on the back. Fne was about to ask if he would be okay to proceed but his lips locked with fnirs. Fne closed fnir eyes, and soaked up the feeling. Baby, Thought I'd died and gone to heaven... Such a night I never had be-fore, ye-ah yeah... Thought i'd died and gone to heaven... Cos what I got there ain't no... cure for...." Once, as a small child, the sheriff had been to a beach. Fne often thought back to that day, to the waves lapping gently on the shore, the soft seaside sand so different from the dust of the desert, the sun warming fnir blood just the right amount, the cooling breeze... And that's what the kiss felt like - that gorgeous day at the beach. Fne'd had no idea a kiss could even feel that way. Fnir previous kisses, with other people, they'd been okay but they had mainly consisted of clumsy embarrassing affairs involving too much slobber, overly eager face-munching, and in one particularly unimpressive case, tooth bashing. This, now this, was very different indeed. Fne doubted it was to do with the species or gender difference - more likely the contrast was down to the completely non-romantic spirit of the locals. The sheriff had always been an odd one, standing out from the others as a whimsical daydreamer. Holomovies and books had helped instill a sense of who fne was and who fne wanted to be. That's why fne'd worked so hard to become sheriff, and why fne talked the way fne did, with an old fashioned polite accent. Why (unlike everyone else round here) fne washed more than once a month. Fne tilted fnir head back as the man kissed fnir neck again, moving slowly around to fnir throat. That brought another wonderful sensory memory to mind. "Uuuhhh, toffee ice cream..." "Mrrf," muttered the man directly onto the sheriff's voicebox, "what about it?" "Nothing... Don't stop..." Caught up in these sensations the sheriff supposed the man's wonky face was okay, actually, as it happened. After all his floppy brown hair was very nice, and he seemed like a good person. And he definitely, unggh... Definitely knew what he was doing. Bolstered by lusty courage fne now looked carefully at his face, blotting out the imperfections, imagining the kind of man he'd be if his face was uninjured, pure. And, fne thought with an ache of simultaneous joy and sadness, that man, was very handsome indeed. Fne held his chin in fnir hand, just as his began to move. Wait, what's this? Fne looked down for now, now, his hands were at fnir waistband, fingers teasing at the top button... TO BE CONTINUED...!!!! |
Imagining hilarious, beautiful
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