Originally by: H. M.  on Muscle Growth: Go Nuts Guys
You could make anything work. Or so you thought.
The steel mills lay empty. It had been that way ever since Amalgamated Iron and Steel filed for bankruptcy over a year ago. You were a machinist, and you worked like quicksilver, your skills second to none. But that training, that expertise, all of it seemed so far away now.
When AIS shut down, some 1,124 people lost their jobs. Some of your co-workers blamed it on foreigners, others the president and his political party, still others the opposing political party. You didn't care who was responsible, you just wanted a steady paycheck and to feel useful again.
You searched, you moped, you searched again. Fruitless. Gina took the kid and left, saying she would find work in another part of the country. She hasn't called you since the day after she left, and that was nine months ago. You still wept bitterly at the abandonment; nine fucking months.
The cheap apartment you had still had a price tag; and when that decrepit skink landlord came by looking for money, you had five days, or else your new home would be a cardboard box. So you went down to the bar, you ranted, you drank, you got drunk. And some lonely, ugly guy offered you a cool hundred to sleep with him.
Did you like it? No. It was all you could do to keep your manhood up. But it paid, and it gave you just enough that you could finally pay the rent and keep a roof over your head. It was money, and a job was a job.
It got easier, you had a gift with words. Too bad you could barely afford to feed yourself. You were open to any and all clients, some of them into kinks and fetishes that made you want to gag or cry. You slept with men and women; you had always been bi-curious prior to prostitution anyway, and men tended to pay a lot more, as many were still in the closet, the extra pay a form of hush money. Women had little interest for a scrawny little 25-year old like you, unless they were really desperate, and not mutually exclusive, really ugly.
Your fur had faded with the lack of care, your once hearty orange and cream fur a dull brown and cloudy grey. Your ribs showed when your shirt came off, and you felt ashamed. Oh, how you longed to really give yourself the attention and care you deserved, not just on the behalf of your clients, but on behalf of your self-esteem, your pride. To bring Gina back, to be happy again. You felt like if you could just get a little healthier, a little bigger, maybe you could get on the right path, make more money, maybe even move on to a more respectable line of work. But gyms and fur cleaning and nice clothes, all that cost money. Money you didn't have.
It didn't help that for hooking, you weren't exactly packing. Five measly inches. You could've died the time you took your pants off one time and the woman who bought you for the night laughed, as if you were one big joke. You sure felt like one. Now, you've heard about all those fancy pills and surgeries and what not that furs use to get bigger, but you also hear most of it's a con anyway. Still, if you could dream about muscles you could never obtain, you might as well dream about having a cock porn stars would envy too.
You were ready to give up tonight, your normal prowling areas devoid of needy clients, the few visitors going for the healthier looking men and women instead. You sigh bitterly, what you would give to have a good job, a house, a strong muscular body, and most importantly, your girlfriend and kid back. If only.
But hey, maybe things are looking up tonight. A strapping young goat pulls to the curb, driving an old 70s era land yacht of a car. At least it was well-maintained, no rust anywhere. He leans toward the passenger side window. "Need a ride?" You smile. "Sure, if you don't mind." You know he could be a serial killer, or another guy with disgusting kinks, but he looks like he has some money, and that is enough to lure you in. You climb into the passenger side seat, the pleather cosseting your bony hide.
The goat pulls away and heads deeper into the seedy side of town. Your heart sinks. He turns to you, scratching his black chin whiskers with his similarly black hand. "How much?" You smirk as you try and show off your best side, if there was one. "Depends on what you need tonight. If you want me for just a little while, twenty. If you want a little more love and care, a hundred will make me yours all night long."
The goat looks at you, a toothy grin on his face. It makes your pulse quicken, and you can't explain why. He's creepy. Really, really creepy. "Well, can't pass up a whole night." You chuckle halfheartedly as he drives towards a sketchy hotel on the edge of the ghetto. The Dame Lorraine Hotel wasn't roach-infested just yet, but well on its way. The neon lettering on the roof only lit up in fits and spurts.
He tells you to wait in the car while he procures a room, taking what appears to be a messenger bag out of the car. You're curious just what exactly his line of work is. More apropos, you see he's in pretty good shape, not bodybuilder size, but definitely some curves on that body of his. You wonder why he would be looking in the Red Light District for a lay, when he could've just as easily picked up some pretty young thing at a bar in a nicer part of town.
He comes back a minute later, keys in hand. You head up with him, his hands already exploring your body, and you cringe when you hear a grunt of disdain. As you enter, the room you watch as he sets down the bag, turning to you with a mischievous grin on his face.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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