You work your way up the hill, a slight hop in your steps as you make your way through your morning jog. As an amateur bodybuilder, it wasn't the most beneficial exercise, but for you, running was less about the physical training and more about the mental isolation, a time to contemplate things. Just you, the paved walk, and a fast-paced set of tunes to keep your blood pumping.
You quickly adjust the headphone clip on your right ear. These things were always a pain in the ass once a little sweat started to loosen their grip. The speaker's attached to a thin rubber-coated clip on your outer ears, with the wires feeding down to your little music player, the device partially crusted over with the sweat and scuzz of a hundred workouts. The lock button had busted long ago and the device was liable to fry your ears off if caught in a heavy rain, but the old player did its job most days. In a way, if one failed to see the grey rubber cords, one might think you were wearing strange earrings, or some off-brand Bluetooth earpiece.
Hell, if you wanted earrings, you certainly had the room for them - your ears are 9" long, perky and dusted with grey and brown fur. Your nostrils flare as you clear the top of the hill,your well-developed chest rising and falling with each needy breath. The occasional passerby you see on this cool November morning stares for a moment with vague interest - perhaps they were admiring your well-built if not all that large body (ha, that's a good one), or more likely, it's because they were seeing a 6"6" grey kangaroo, which aren't exactly common in these parts.
In some ways, you're genetically blessed - as kangaroos go, you think you're quite handsome. Your muzzle is on the narrower side, lacking the bulbous schnoz of your red kangaroo cousins. You have expressive brown eyes, lustrous grey fur with brown and cream accents, and a body that's very healthy looking, if not especially bulky or defined. Your ears spread sideways as you think about that...you have a naturally well-built frame, but adding muscle to it is as much a challenge as it is for a rail-thin tween.
You turn left and jog past shady lawns and well-kept homes. Maybe part of the problem is your control group being far beyond the norm. You rent a house a few blocks from campus with three of your friends - Tristan, a water deer that also happens to be your boyfriend; Ty, a tan pitbull; and his boyfriend of a few months, a grey wolf named Yuri, who preferred the Anglicized version of his name, George. Tristan, the football team's quarterback, is something of a campus heartthrob, a hunk of cervine muscle grown and chiseled to aesthetic perfection. Ty is built like a powerlifter, a modest muscle-gut and a pair of arms that looked like someone sewed wrecking balls under his fur (and given how strong he was, it might as well be the case). George is essentially the best of both worlds, a gigantic slab of finely shredded beef that is so successful in the super-heavyweight bodybuilding circuit that he's graced the front cover of no less than four fitness magazines since July, the latest being this month's "Big Bad Wolf" feature in Muscle World. With friends like this, it's hard for even not to feel small.
You turn another corner, jog a couple more blocks, and turn into the front walk of a two-story craftsman home. There's no way you could have afforded this, but George insisted on this place when looking for a rental this past summer for the upcoming school year (not wanting to live apart from Ty changed up everyone's plans for the student ghetto special you, Ty and Tristan had already reserved). The wolf even covered the difference in the rent, which was sizable. Being the son of a real estate mogul had its perks, you suppose. But he also had perks since he paid the most- he had his own bathroom, and he got to use the garage...not that it mattered on a beautiful morning like this, the wolf's $70,000 sports car sitting in the driveway, next to Ty's truck.
Okay, okay, for the record - he's a 4.0 engineer with the body of Hercules and gobs of money. Even though he's generally a super-great guy, it's hard not to resent him some days, especially when he gets his alpha wolf mentality going.
You quickly down part of a "sports beverage", followed by a protein shake in an attempt to counteract your running a 5K. You can almost hear Tristan now, getting on your case and examining the content of your shakes to make sure they provide optimal benefit. You head upstairs to the shared bathroom, stripping your v-neck and revealing your sweaty-matted fur on your trim, muscular frame - sorry ladies, this boy's a tailchaser.
As you approach the door, you hear heavy panting from inside. Oh yes. It's late November, and that means rutting season for all the cute stag boys. And Tristan was getting it hard this year. On the one hand, the excessive horniness should seem like a boon, his balls swell up and he puts out like a vending machine on steroids. In reality, it made him horny, sure, but it also made his musk a lot worse, gave him a more aggressive, dominant attitude, and allowed him to stack on pounds of lean muscle with ease. All of these things make life more complicated for you than you'd like.
But, with football season in swing, it's been a couple days since you two made sweet lovins'. Why not lend him a hand?
You whisk the door open, the fanged deer gives you a look of surprise as he stands their with his back propped against the tile wall, grasping his uniball and sizable tool, 10.5" erect. You drop gently to your knees, giving him a naughty smile before grasping his throbbing shaft and giving the head a cursory lick.
"Oh, uh, hey babe! Oof, you're gonna help me out?"
You smile. "Can't bring a loaded gun onto campus, sweetheart. Figured I'd give my muscle stag a hand, and a mouth." You gently stroke him, massaging his overloaded balls and sucking down the beads of pre as they spill from his slit. You look up and notice he's not looking at you, he's looking behind you, a worried look on his face. What is he looking at? You let off and turn around, looking into the shower.
Oh, motherfucker. It's that tablet computer. He was recording himself. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. Because he's so horny this month, darling Mr. Seouk has been shacking around with a wealthy older friend, a gazelle bodybuilder named Travis Halani that they know from their gym. Of course the two have been pounding each other behind closed doors, all they can think about is getting their rocks off. You know about this, but you ignore it because you see Tristan as a fine catch and you don't want to risk losing him by not letting him take care of his breeding needs. But then Travis gave him this fucking tablet as a gift a week ago, as if to drive the point him that he's the real alpha stud, a goddamned sugar daddy rewarding his favorite pet. It was bad enough that Travis's gift was unintentionally screwing up your relationship. But Tristan filming himself for Travis's pleasure? This is a new low.
You point at the tablet's camera, a fake smile on your face. "Oh, this is for Travis, huh? Well, don't let me stop your show." You grab your shirt and storm to your room. "Andy, wait, it's not what it looks like-"
"Go to hell!" You slam your bedroom door behind you and slump to the floor. Ugh, what are you doing wrong!? Why are you always the runner up in everyone's eyes! You're never good enough, and you'll never be good enough! You hear Tristan hang outside the door for a second, then turn away to his room, closing the door quietly. Yeah, that's right, you unfaithful prick, go jerk off in private for your sugar daddy. You can see where his heart lies.
Sigh...what an awful start to the day. It can't get worse, right?
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