Group Therapy (gay furry camp story)

3 - flavour in few

"You're new?" The fox asked, pointing as if he recognized him. The first thing Ryan noticed – and he'd grow to love it in the weeks to come – was that quirky feel that the fox was omitting a façade. One so strict to a positive and outgoing attitude that it had almost entirely become him. But there were pickings; a voice which puberty hadn't fully picked clean, a politeness not local to teens. His façade made for a very social, approachable screen that Ryan felt strangely eager to one day see through.

But the mask was up, the paw was out, and Ryan shook it heartily. "Yeah, I guess I am. Who were you talking to before?"

"Oh," A flicker of doubt, pawned off my a flurry of gestures. "You know, my self. Rehearsing. For... something."

Ryan smiled and it was returned. Kyle was quite cute, raised one lip more than the other. I wonder how soft you are...

"You caught me at a bad time." The fox laughed.

Ryan was dazing out, "yeah..." I bet it would just fall off the bone...

"Oh, you got a little something."

Ryan followed the fox's finger (digit) and wiped some drool of his own chin. "Oh, heh..." He tried to stop his eyes from dilating, "sorry 'bout that.". It was here that it occurred to Ryan that something may actually be seriously wrong with himself.

"All good, man." The fox nodded like a real dude, and then he did his next peculiar thing. A sideways glance so personal to whatever was there – or not there – that Ryan had to glance at it as well. There was nothing there, of course. So Ryan questioned whether there really was someone and they were just hiding outside the building, peaking through the windows. Watching him. Like an ambush, and this really was a cowboy movie. Oh Jesus, was he about to get skinned alive? How would that be for fair treatment, flaying a cannibal and eating them alive. Karmas a bitch, and that bitch is hungry for meat.

When was the last time he ate? Two, three days ago? And it was something superficial too, like a salad. As far from homemade as they can come. No ceaser allowed kid, too much bacon.

Is that fair treatment? Depriving a kid of bacon bits because they ate a person? Did cannibals act out of an encouraged taste palette? Would the bacon bits trigger this primal urge inside of him to hunt and kill? Like how Popeye could bust open a can of spinach and kick a room's worth of ass?

He shook his head. No that's no true at all. Beef jerky was a favourite of his growing up, with the only thought being whether or not this scary 'cho-lest-er-ol' stuff could kill him one day.

"Oh shoot, sorry, you must be really... disoriented by all of this."

It dawned on Ryan that there may be a lot of social interactions ahead of him. "How many of you guys are there?" The question brought about that feeling of 'ripping off the band aid'.

"Quite a few. A 'flavourful few', as the teachers call us." He said it jokingly, yet without a smile.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Teachers?"

"Jeez, you really didn't read the reports for this place?"

"Don't read."

"Fair enough. Totally boring, right?"

Ryan shook his head. "No, I never learned."

"...how to what." The fox blinked. "How to read?"

Ryan nodded, "I can do the numbers, and all that stuff. I just get stuck on all those symbols... all the ones on newspapers."

"Letters?" The fox was noticeably biting back his hesitation to be polite. "That's fine, man. All good."

"All good?"