Some guy's girlfriend gets turned into a trashy rat girl in the Big Apple. Maybe not quite the Big Apple you're thinking of, but still. Explicit.
Rosa leaned against the railing in front of the windows. The city skyline spilled out on either side of her. She gave me the biggest, toothiest smile she could manage. I held her phone up, leaned back, and tapped the screen. There was a soft shutter-click.
I passed her phone back. "All right. I'm ready to climb back down," I said.
She gave me a confused look, the smile still stuck to her face. "What, you don't want a shot of us together?" she asked.
Before I could tell her she shouldn't be giving her phone to a total stranger, she'd slipped by me and passed it off to a wolf in a track jacket, then jogged back over to me.
Rosa hugged me tight around the waist. The side of her head pressed against my chest. I took a breath, put my arm around her, and tried to smile as big as she did.
Standing at the stern of the ferry, Rosa snapped one last picture of the Apple of Liberty, pale green in the afternoon sun. She turned around. The harbor wind pushed back her brown hair, save for a strand or two clinging to the corner of her lips.
"Here," she said, offering me her phone again. "Take a look."
I pressed my shoulder against hers so we could look at her pictures together. There were shots of us underneath the wall of clocks at Times Station. There was one of Rosa pointing up at the impeccably perpendicular corner of the Madison Square Building, and then a matching one of her at the top pointing down. There were shots of the post-modern floral arrangements at the Metropolitan Garden of Art. There were even shots of the hot dogs we'd had for lunch.
I gave her phone back. "That is a lot of photos."
Rosa stuck her phone in her jeans pocket and tugged her flannel shirt tighter against the thick harbor breeze. "We don't get to go on a lot of vacations," she said. "I want to make sure I remember all of this."
I did too. My hand rested on her waist and we leaned together against the wind.
"Hey," she said.
I looked into her eyes.
With a grin, she nodded toward the Apple of Liberty. "I guess that's why they call it the Big Apple, huh?"
I pursed my lips and sighed, which only made Rosa smile brighter.
October 18, 2017
A quick story written as a warm-up. Content warning for rough language and the sort of stuff you'd expect from the title. Explicit.
While the coyote up at the cash register had her nose down in her phone, Kris slipped another two bracelets off the rack and dumped them into her bag. Her bag was one of those big clunky ones—ten percent of why she wore it was because it was trendy, and the other ninety because you could stuff a lot of expensive stuff in there.
Well, as expensive as you could find in Too U, at least.
June 7, 2017
A fox girl gets a makeover from a pair of trashy rats. Explicit, crude language.
"Hey, mine aren't as fake as yours, barbie-tits." Maria pulled the collar of her leather jacket open and shoved her chest forward. It was true. Rita's tits sat higher and tighter than Maria's.
Rita clicked her tongue and flexed an arm. "That's 'cause I got muscle. Means it's harder for me to be a fatass than it is for girls like you."
Maria scoffed at the other rat girl leaning on the counter. "Like you don't love my fat ass. Why else are you hanging out here?" She gestured around, at the racks of trashy clothing and slutty clubwear. There weren't any customers, so The B*tch Boutique was quiet, aside from the constant pulsing club beat over the speakers.
"Body shop's closed, TV sucks, might as well talk to a skank," Rita said. She hopped up onto the counter and dragged a cigarette out of her pocket. Maria didn't bother to tell her not to light up inside. Number one, she didn't care, and number two, Rita looked so fucking butch when she smoked that it drove her wild.
"You just wanna watch hot chicks trying on slutty clothes," Maria said.
"If that was true, I'd just hide in your closet."
May 7, 2017
In a cyberpunk world, a punk panthress is brainwashed into being a police officer while a shy jackal finds a new, more punkish self through body modding. Explicit.
Opal stuffed her small red mohawk into a hat made of electrodes, elastic straps, and a tangle of wires. Her natural panther bulk made her an imposing figure, and her black fur only more so. Rows of piercings climbed up her ears and a set of rings jutted from one of her eyebrows. Her chest was stuffed tight into a tank top and her big boots held big paws. In short, she was what the Party called an 'improper citizen'. It was a term Opal took with pride.
At the other end of the wires sat Cai. At his most rebellious, the young jackal looked like an office intern. His pointed ears were the only remarkable thing sticking out of his polo shirt and slacks. But behind that squared-off demeanor and tight-combed black fur was a networking genius with a burning distaste for the status quo. Opal had found him years ago, and now they were partners in hacking.
"Ready to fuck shit up," Opal said.
"Just be careful," Cai said. If you wanted to hack these days, you had to go full immersion. Riskier than good old screen-and-keyboard like Cai preferred, but you could move as fast as you could think. "Here we go." He flipped the switch for the neural rig.
June 15, 2016
Three friends play a fortune-telling game to grant their hearts' desire, but is it really giving them what they want? Explicit.
Cole stood beside the cabinet, like he was presenting it to them. "It's like a fortune telling game, but it's got special rules to it. You play it with a bunch of people, you get one fortune per day, and the first person to get to five 'blessings' wins."
"Wins what?" Tricia asked.
Cole pointed to one of the rules. "Your heart's desire."
Alex made a soft snort. Cole grinned. Tricia was starting to smile too. It was a cheesy old game.
"So, want to give it a shot?" Cole asked.
"That's what we're here for," Alex said. Even if it was silly, it was something they could all play together.
Alex stood up, fished one of the tokens out of the open coin return, and dropped it into the slot. A tinny recording of a sitar played as the cards on display in the booth swirled around and the lights on the outside flashed on and off in a spinning pattern.
A slot in the front spat out a yellowed card. Alex picked it up, then moved to the side. Tricia stood by her after getting her own fortune, and once Cole got his too, they all turned to face each other.
A fox-squirrel runs into one of those trashy rat girls. Surprise surprise, she TFs him. Explicit.
The doors started to close, then stopped and pulled back. Fortune stepped into the elevator and tapped the brass button for the fifteenth floor. The bed was waiting for the fox-squirrel up in his room, where he could rest his legs and feet before dinner. Probably Italian food, he thought—it seemed fitting while he was in the city, even if he'd had pizza for lunch for the same reason.
He looked from the doors up to the number three which slid up to four, then to the other person standing in the elevator with him. The way her ass jutted out in the thin black dress made it beg to be squeezed, and the way one of her knees was crooked, lifting one of her tall black heels off of the ground, seemed almost inviting. Her pink tail swayed from side to side behind her. The dress ended just below her shoulder blades, amid the thick curls of her black hair, while on top of her head, a pair of rounded ears held up heavy golden hoops.