Group Therapy (gay furry camp story)

4 - hynde paws

The shadow being cast by the window frames had grown to stretch across the length of the court, like a handful of ember fingers. Ryan imagined them suddenly closing, grabbing both him and Kyle and dragging them to their dark fates.

He exchanged a brief astonishment at the principle's name with Kyle, and that seemed to lighten the mood. But each second that past was making itself visible in the concern of the fox's face. Ryan felt that if this really were an ambush, it would be now that the guns would come out.

But there were no gunshots. Only words: "Alright man, I think its about the right time to get you back to camp. The boys aren't very patient in the heat of the day. But now," The fox seemed to taste the own dryness in his mouth, "... I'm reckon they might just tolerate ya."

They left after cleaning up all the ball's that had been scattered around. They had been silent in that time, and any chance of small-talk was either killed by Ryan's nervous anticipation on just what this camp was. What also didn't help, what also 'kicked that dead horse named Conversation', was remembering how the fox had passed that ball to absolutely nothing. It stuck to Ryan's thoughts like glue.

They walked across the distance of desert that separated the basket-ball court from the actual school. "It wouldn't hurt to take off your shoes, when you're able to." Kyle said, "Camp culture is camp culture."

Ryan cocked his head, but took them off without question. The red soil felt chalky and soft under his feet. And warm: the fox obviously knew that perfect interval of sunset coolness off by heart.

Kyle dropped Ryan off at the front door and told him to look for a 'Yellow Staff' door once he was inside. Emphasizing the colour as opposed to the signage. "Don't worry man, ." Kyle chuckled and walked back out into the desert with no observable destination.

Ryan opened the door and was hit with the full blast of the air-conditioning. Not just a cool breeze, either; it seemed to be so purposely icy that it mocked all the desert life outside.

Whilst the school corridors were deceptively twisty and identically designed, Ryan managed to find the door before his head started hurting. The Venetian blinds around the door made the room's contents a complete mystery.

He opened the room to find a dimly lit classroom. In the corner, a hyena was masturbating under a large desk. He didn't stop at the sight of Ryan, he just slowed down.

"Why can't you idiots just knock for once." He growled

Ryan tried to maintain his composure. "I'm here to get set up."

The hyena squinted. Then, after a painfully long second he threw his arms up and exclaimed, "ah so you're the fresh meat!"

Ryan watched - and then looked away - as he got out of his chair and walked towards him. "I'm Mr. Hyde, and you are to call me by that only. Not sir, not dude, not mate."

"Sure." Ryan said.

Mr. Hyde (pronounced 'hide') had a squint that near kill a man. "Is there some reason that you're staring at the wall?"

"You're naked, Hyde." Ryan said.

Mr. Hyde snarled, sending spittle across the face of the coyote, "I'm aware of the you shit-nosed little rodent. And you'll get fucking used to it too. All I hate more than stupid questions is clothing, but right now your fuckin' face is getting higher on that list. So I suggest you look, at, me sometime before it reaches the top.

Ryan looked him in the face.

His expression calmed, no longer bearing teeth. "Good." He calmed right down to a smile in an almost concerning quickness. "Are there any problems with my face?"