I should have run, SR thought, I should have run and never come back. But hindsight is better than foresight. He padded quietly along the nearly-deserted street. It was starting to grow late, and most of the small families that lived in this part of town had already retired to their apartments to enjoy Christmas Eve with each other. Still, the relative quiet made for a very serene and reflective evening. SR smiled sadly, staring at the pavement as he walked. If this were a perfect world-- or at least a world without SCABS, then maybe it could have all worked out in the end. Fortunately for SR, the last three weeks of the semester were always the most busy, and he was able to avoid TIC for nearly the whole time. But despite his efforts, and unbeknownst to him, when they were together, they noticed that something was wrong. On this particular evening, SR had just gotten done with his last final. In two days he would be driving back to his parents' home. It was Thursday, but most importantly, it was his birthday. He arrived home with the intention to grab his telescope and drive to the Stargazing Spot. But as he approached his dorm-room door, he saw a note taped to it: SR! Come to the Terries' house ASAP! -Jason Hrumpfing, SR threw his backpack on his bed, grabbed a Peter Gabriel UCD, and drove to their house to "That Voice Again." He'd spent almost all of the past three weeks considering how he would make his exit from TIC. His father was right: This had to stop. But SR still loved his friends very much, and was reluctant to part ways. As he approached the darkened house, he idly wondered if an opportunity would present itself this night. Upon knocking on the door, he was greeted with a muffled, "Come in!" He entered and turned on the lights. "Surprise!" Damn them-- they had done it again! SR's cheeks flushed as he saw his friends-- some of whom had come from great distances across the country-- gathered together to wish him well for his birthday. He stood there, mouth agape, scanning the faces as they silently waited for his reaction. After a few seconds, Gene's vodor piped up: "You know, SR, breathing through your mouth won't help with the smell." Terri slapped him, and everyone laughed. Terry and Amanda had prepared a meal of spaghetti and meatballs (for those who could digest them), and before long everyone was conversing like it was old times. SR momentarily forgot his obligation to his father. After dinner, most of the members of TIC were scattered around the kitchen and front room talking when Chad stood up, called everyone together, and announced, "I'd like to thank everyone for coming out to SR's birthday party this evening. But what's a birthday party without a birthday present? What do you say we give it to him now?" This brought a murmur of agreement from everyone present, and suddenly all attention shifted to Terry. Finding himself unexpectedly in the spotlight, Terry shifted in his seat, making Terri get out of his lap. Clearing his throat and rubbing his paws together, he addressed SR. "Um... We're going to let you choose the movie ton-- Ouch!" Terri elbowed Terry in the ribs. They exchanged a couple of playful frowns, then Terry took a deep breath and continued. "Um... I hope you don't mind, but I told everyone about the little conversation we had a month or so ago-- you know, about SCABS and your desire to be one." SR's cheeks went bright red and he buried his face in his hands with an embarrassed, "Oh gosh!" Terry continued, "Well, we... uh... thought we might give you the opportunity to find out what it's like." SR looked up, face still red. "Um... no offense, guys, but there's no way I'm going to put on some kind of costume..." Jackie interrupted, "That's not exactly what we had in mind." SR gave her an inquisitive stare. Slowly, and with narrow eyes, he scanned the faces of his friends, stopping at Terry. "What's going on?" Terry cleared his throat again. "Um... let me put it this way: Shortly after I got SCABS, I was holding my cousin's baby daughter and... um... to make a long story short, for the next day my cousin had a baby skunk for a daughter." Gene interjected, "I'll bet that made for really stinky diapers!" The realization hit SR like a two-by-four to the head, "You're a polymorph?" Terry smiled. "Well, I can only do skunks, and can't affect myself..." "YOU'RE A POLYMORPH?" "...and it only lasts for a day, give or take a few hours, and it wears me out pretty badly whenever I do it..." "YOU'RE A POLYMORPH?" "Um... yes." SR put his hand on his forehead. "And you want to...?" Terry looked concerned. "But only if you want to!" SR put his hands on his face an closed his eyes. A million thoughts were shooting through his head. The most frequent one was that of his father's voice saying, "I don't want to lose you." It was crunch time: SR realized that with the commitment he'd made to his father and to his God, that accepting the offer would be among the gravest of sins. Still, he also realized that this might be the only opportunity he'd ever have to do this, polymorphs being as rare as they are. He would be going home in two days-- that ought to leave enough time for the effects to wear off... SR removed his hands and opened his eyes. "I've never wanted anything more in my entire life. What do I have to do?" This brought a cheer from his friends. Terry smiled. "Nothing much really, although we might want a little more privacy to do this." He led SR to the bedroom and shut the door. Handing him a towel, he said. "Take off your clothes." SR went beet red. "What?" Terry frowned. "Well, unless you want a serious cramp in your tail from those Levis, I suggest you take them off. Put the towel around your waist." SR submissively did as he was told, embarrassed that he hadn't thought of that. Terry had SR sit on the edge of the bed, Terry kneeling behind him. He said, "Now just close your eyes and relax. I'll tell you when I'm done." SR's stomach was churning with a mix of excitement and dread. His mind raced with thoughts like, Is this safe?; Will it hurt?; and What if he screws up? Before long though, he felt the cold pads of Terry's paws on his shoulders. Over the course of about ten minutes, the coldness grew hotter until it was almost searing on SR's skin. SR felt no other unusual sensations during that time. At last, in a very tired voice, Terry said, "OK," and removed his paws. SR slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that his nose seemed considerably longer than it was before. There was also a white stripe down the center, accented by black on each side. He reached up with his hand to touch it, and gasped when this came into his field of vision. He looked down at both of his hands. The palms, and each of the fingertips were covered with a leathery pad of black skin. The fingers were quite a bit shorter now, and the nails were more claw than nail. Except for the pads and claws, each of SR's hands-- no, paws-- was covered in a soft black fur. A 'whump' sound jolted SR out of his reverie. Spinning, he saw that Terry was lying unconscious on the bed. Worried, SR stood up, intent on getting help. He was momentarily distracted by his new, bushy, black-and-white striped fifth appendage, but then his better sense took hold, and he walked to the door. Upon opening it, he was greeted with a cacophony of wolf-whistles, churrings and howls. He smiled weakly and said, "Um... I think Terry passed out." The members of TIC continued their racket, spouting things like, "Lookin' good!"; "Now that's what I call skunk 'Au Natural'"; and "As if we didn't already have enough stinkers here!" Amused, Terri stood up, heading for the kitchen, and said, "He must have overdone it. I'll get an ice pack. You can get some of Terry's sweat pants out of the top drawer of the dresser." SR was momentarily confused as to why Terry would need another pair of pants in his condition. Then SR realized that he'd forgotten the towel. "Oh geez!" he said, covering himself. If his cheeks hadn't been covered in black fur, they would have been the brightest of reds. A few minutes later, Terry was sitting on the bed with a screaming headache, Terri holding an ice pack to his forehead. SR was in the bathroom, donning a pair of sweat pants, eyes widely staring at his own reflection. Jason was there, enjoying SR's enthusiasm, smiling as widely as his beak allowed. SR reached up and felt his rounded ears. "Oh my gosh!" he said. He looked at the pads on the bottom of his feet. "Oh my gosh!" He spun around, trying to get a better look at his tail. "Oh my gosh!" He opened his mouth widely, looking at his sharp teeth and flat tongue. He tested them with one paw. "Oh hy hoth!" Gene could could be heard in the other room, "Oh great. Now his voice is broken." The body SR now occupied felt oddly familiar. Yet in a way he couldn't quite grasp, the sensation was very different. With all the fur sending messages to his brain, it was sort of like removing his hand from a latex glove that had been worn for ages-- it tingled all over, yet there was more than just that. At least there was one thing that was totally new to his experience: his tail. SR turned around again to get a better look at it. He began flexing muscles in the area of his rear end in an attempt to figure out how to control it. In a few moments he got some movement. After several minutes, he was wildly thrashing it back an forth. He bent over, and raised it as high as he could in the air... Suddenly, Terry jolted off the bed, "Careful with that, SR! You've got a full clip and one in the chamber with that thing! I don't want it going off in here!" SR immediately felt very sheepish. Standing upright, he said, "Oh geez, man, I'm sorry! Um... how would I do that, anyway?" Terry walked over to the bathroom, holding the ice pack to his head. "Well, you were about two seconds away from really giving Gene something to complain about. Of course, if you ever actually do spray something, it'd be a good idea to pull your pants down first." "Oh," SR said. His mind was still reeling at the image he saw in the mirror. Jason spoke up. "Well, now that you've got the fur coat, what do you want to do with it?" Not taking his eyes off his reflection, a wide grin slowly spread itself across SR's muzzle until all of his sharp mustelid teeth were visible. "Let's hit the town!" The rest of that evening was spent doing what one could do in this rural college town: SR drove like a madman on the highways, frequently sticking his head out the window and whooping for joy, allowing the wind to whip his fur every which way. They also went bar hopping. Although SR didn't drink, he enjoyed being there when his friends did. Tod and Jason would do the strangest things. Apparently six-year-old boys and snow owls don't hold their alcohol well. Eventually, it began to grow late, and the members of TIC began dispersing to their various places of residence. SR wanted to try out his new sense of smell in the woods, but because a good portion of his friends had finals the next day, and making the drive would make it a very long night indeed, he settled for the school's arboretum. Walking back, SR pulled Terry aside, asking the rest of the group to go on without them. As soon as they were out of sight and earshot (which can take some time, when one is dealing with canine morphs), SR spoke. "Terry, under normal conditions, I'd probably have killed you for telling everyone about that conversation. As it is, though, I can't tell you how much this has meant to me. Thank you so much! I owe you big time!" Terry smiled. "It wasn't much really... but there's one thing about that conversation that still bothers me. You never really told me why." SR looked at the ground as the two skunk morphs, one more permanent than the other, meandered their way along one of the school's walkways. "To be honest, I have no idea." Terry wrinkled his brow at that. "Really? I mean-- you said you'd thought about most of the negative aspects, and I must assume you have, especially being a part of that religion; but what could possess you to want something that would be so, well, devastating to your life?" "I know-- It makes absolutely no sense to me, either. But for some reason, the desire is undeniably there. I just don't know why. Maybe I was supposed to be some furry critter, chittering my life away in the woods and somehow got born in the wrong body. Maybe this is all some sort of chemical imbalance inherited from my mother. Maybe my dad's right: Maybe Satan is trying to drag me down into the inexorable depths of The Pit. Maybe God is playing some kind of sadistic practical joke on me. I mean, I really have no idea what's wrong with me." Terry stopped, pausing for thought, and forcing SR likewise stop and look him in the eyes. "SR, there is nothing wrong with you. Sure, you may screw up now an then and even be a little messed up in the head, but that's no reason to go around thinking you're somehow fatally flawed, or that this desire is wrong. I mean, this may seem to make no sense at all, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily bad." "Well, it certainly isn't good." "Who knows? I mean, how do we know how things will turn out in the end, or what the grand scheme of things really is? There's more truth to that old cliche 'All I know is that I know nothing' than people like to admit. I certainly don't have all the answers, but I do believe it's not right for you to think that this desire is wrong or even your fault." SR smiled, casting a sideward glance at his companion. "There you go: Getting all philo-scoffical on me. But really, thanks-- I needed that. I owe you again." Terry returned the smile as the two continued their stroll. "Hey, man, don't mention it. It's good to have you as a friend." "Same here, man." They continued walking slowly for the next couple of minutes in silence, enjoying each other's company and reflecting on the conversation. After a few minutes, both were startled out of their complacent strolling when someone around the corner of the next building, where a young woman had just walked, shouted, "Hey Lady! Wanna fuck?" This was followed by whoever-it-was's companion, thinking the statement somehow humorous, erupting in a rude and drunken laughter. It sounded like two young men had indulged a little too heavily in their end-of-semester fraternity celebrations. Terry grabbed SR on the elbow and turned to walk the other way. Doing his best to ignore the insufferable sounds greeting them from around the corner, Terry spoke. "Let's not introduce you too soon to some of the more negative aspects of being a SCAB." SR followed suit. "Good idea." By now both of the men around the corner were laughing as the woman they'd verbally assaulted walked angrily away. Terry continued his efforts. "Well, SR, you'll be looking like Pepe LePew for at least the next eighteen hours, and won't be completely back to your old pink-skinned self another twenty-four. It's still your night-- is there anything else you'd like to do?" "Oh gee, man. I can't think of anything else tonight. Besides, don't you have a final tomorrow?..." "HEY! CHECK OUT THE SCABS!" The two men had just rounded the corner, and caught sight of the two lagging members of TIC. Terry grabbed SR's elbow again and quickened the pace. "Hey! Where ya goin'?" one of the men called out and began chasing after the black-and-white striped friends. Incredible as it may sound, even in his drunken state, he was able to catch up. "Stop, you lousy pieces of shit! Or I'll knock both of your hairy little heads in!" Terry and SR stopped. "Turn around." As he turned, SR recognized Randy Jacobsen from his congregation. Although Randy certainly wasn't the charismatic type, he was at least respected because he, a starting lineman for the University's football team, had about three hundred pounds of muscle to throw around. He was joined a moment later by a wheezing Roger Shannon, fellow member of the congregation and fraternity brother to Randy. "Oh, ho! Would you look at what we have here? A couple of skunks in love! How many tits do you have, skunkie?" Roger pulled his friend's arm. "Dude! Check it out! They're both guys!" "Holy shit, man! Fuckin' gay skunks!" Both men, who were wearing 'cute' T-shirts prominently portraying some Humans First propaganda, doubled over in laughter. Suddenly a thought occurred to SR and a wicked smile flashed onto his face. He shot a sideward glance to Terry. "Actually, now that I think about it, there is something else I'd like to do tonight." Terry's eyes narrowed, then the same wicked smile grew on his lips. A moment later, the fraternity boys were being introduced to the business ends of two upset skunk morphs (which, by the way, are not the front ends). Tails were up, pants were down, and then... "What the...? OH FUCK!" SR was laughing so hard he could barely run. Not that he really needed to: Randy and Roger were both on the ground, tearing their clothes off and rubbing their burning eyes, all the while shouting threats against the lives of both of the skunk morphs. It was clear that, at least on this night, neither of them would be making good on their claims. Terry was laughing as well. "Great shot! You nailed him square in the face!" "Thanks! You should've seen how shocked Randy was-- and he was nice enough to have his mouth open so you could get some in there, too!" "Oh man! I've always wanted to do that! I just hope we haven't stirred up a hornets' nest!" "Don't worry about it-- if I know those two, then tomorrow morning they'll wake up with a couple of nasty hang-overs and a scent that won't wash out with the best of detergents. They won't have a clue who hit them or how. Everyone else will just assume that they stumbled across a wayward skunk in the arboretum." Both of them were wearing out from their running escape by now, so they slowed their pace. "I hope so. There aren't a lot of skunk morphs at this school, and you know how nasty a bunch of pissed-off Human Firsters can be." "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Besides, even if they do remember what happened, they'll be looking for two homosexual male skunk morph SCABS, right? And in twenty-four hours, half of that pair will no longer be a SCAB." SR grinned at his friend. Terry picked up where SR left off. "I only wish I were the one who wouldn't be the SCAB." "So do I, Terry. So do I." Copyright © 1998 by SR Foxley. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you have questions regarding the publication of this document.
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